I'll Never Let This Go
by andstilltheyechome
Summary: Taylor York Paramore fanfic. Callie moves from London to Nashville, where she meets Taylor York. But Paramore is still in turmoil after the departure of Josh and Zac. Can the relationship ever work out, or will past demons get in the way?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Hello and welcome to my Taylor York fanfic! Taylor x OC. The first few chapters are the longest due to character development and building the relationship, but don't worry, the drama soon begins. If you really don't want to read description and just want to get straight to the drama, then I suggest you skip to Chapter 5. But be warned, you may not understand certain parts, so at least try and skim read the earlier chapters. If you want chapter overviews, just message me.**

**You can also find this fanfic at taylor-york-fanfic on tumblr.**

**There you'll find photos, gifs and all manner of Taylor York goodness, plus you'll be the first to receive updates on the fanfic.**

**Please R&R, it's great to hear what you think of it.**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter One - Callie

It's been exactly two weeks since I moved from Chelsea in London to Nashville in Tennessee, and I'm still confused by the difference between 'jam' and 'jelly'. Apparently, 'jelly' is 'jam', which just makes things ten times more confusing and uncomfortable, especially when I look at the waitress in the diner as if she just asked me if I wanted a smearing of salsa on my toast. 'It doesn't go' is what I'm thinking, then I realise she means 'jam'. She's stopped laughing along with me.

But I'm getting there, I think. I haven't partially run over someone for a few days, and I'm getting to grips with the currency, but it all still feels like I'm trapped in my own little bubble, threatening to pop whenever the going gets tough. Which is why I'm heading out again today, to line the walls of my bubble with a hardened coating.

I can feel that kind of nervous excitement roiling in my gut, sending a wave of nausea rippling up into my throat. Stepping past the threshold of my new house is an ordeal in itself. It's just beginning to feel like home, and there's a small part of me that's frightened by the idea that I might forget what home feels like altogether if I don't spend much time in my house. Yet I will myself down the pathway and into my car – a hulking black SUV that I bought when I arrived here, or rather my parents bought it. I still walk round to the right side by accident, and on numerous occasions I've slapped my hand against the dashboard as I've searched for the gear stick that isn't there.

I pull away from the curb and head deeper into Nashville, which also is more cause for nervous excitement. I don't like junctions, but the thought of actually getting to where I'm going spurs on the excitement so there's a sickly tug-of-war being played in my stomach. This is a chance to try my hand at a lot of things in my new country – currency, the postal service, etcetera etcetera. It's like being a teenager let loose for the first time on the town; you want to do everything, see everything, even when half the time you haven't a clue what's going on.

Eventually, the satnav directs me to the street I want, but as I drive down it there are no spaces for me to park. Every inch of the curb is dominated by a big car of some sort, like a tribe that's claimed its patch of land. As a result, I'm forced to drive round the neighbouring streets at a creeping pace, keeping my eyes peeled for a free spot. This is the point in time where I wish my eyes could look different directions.

Finally, I come across a space, and I hurriedly squeeze into it before anyone can challenge me. I get out and pay at the meter, faffing about with all these coins for longer than is necessary. Then I'm off back the way I came, peering round street corners to look at the signs. I'm now beyond caring what people think of me. I'm clearly not homeless, I could be a little insane, but hopefully they come to the likely conclusion that I'm foreign. Most of the time they do, asking me what my accent is, usually confusing me with Australian or South African but I don't mind. What I do mind is if people ask me if I'm alright and look at me with that nervous sympathy, as though they feel sorry for me but have an inkling that I might turn out be crazy. I've got that wherever I've gone, mainly because I'm awful when it comes to new countries. I get it a lot in Spain, more so when I was a kid and the waiters would coo over my freckles. Now they just think I'm a little weird.

Soon I stumble across the right street and halfway down it is the shop I'm looking for: 'Ziva Guitars', a small shop but apparently with a big name. I wouldn't know as it was my brother Tom who directed me to this shop. So as I step inside I feel self-consciousness seep into my limbs. The shop is narrow yet long, like the Victorian terraced houses that are small on the outside but huge inside. Kind of like the TARDIS. But maybe I shouldn't mention that. The walls are lined with guitar after guitar, a mix of bright colours and shapes, contrasting to the hazy sunlight that filters in through the window, and the drab beige of the walls themselves. There are a few customers already in the shop, but I don't pay attention to them. I wander further inside, scrutinizing the guitars like I know what I'm doing, when in reality I'm just wondering which shape or colour Tom would like the most. The guitar is a present for his birthday and to keep an element of surprise he asked me to pick the guitar myself. Bad move.

"The Gibson Les Paul is a safe choice," someone says beside me.

I turn, a little startled, and see a young man pointing at a guitar the colour of maple syrup. The guy has short hair with the hint of curls trying to reach their full potential. His hair is a deep, dark brown while his skin is fair. His nose is snubbed and ever so slightly turned up at the end, but it's a nose I'd describe as cute. He has almond-shaped eyes set with thick eyebrows. He isn't tall, but then he isn't short, just of average height. And he's wearing a plain white t-shirt, a navy zip-up hoodie and skinny jeans.

I tear my gaze away from him and glance at the guitar, my cheeks going a little red. I hope he didn't notice I was staring for a little bit too long. I recognise him from somewhere, but I can't think where.

"You think?" I reply about the guitar, aware that I just lost my cool 'I know what I'm doing' exterior.

"Yeah, you know it's a great guitar. You can't go wrong." He shrugs, looking a little embarrassed himself.

I peer closer at the price tag glued to the wall beside it. I gasp involuntarily. "It's also quite expensive," I comment, laughing a little.

The guy laughs too. "There is that."

I look at the guitar again and wonder if Tom would like it. I can't really think of anything else to get him, and this guy has suggested it to me. Why ignore his advice?

"Well," I continue, "I can afford it. And I don't want to buy a rubbish guitar; my brother wouldn't be happy about that."

"The guitar's for your brother?" the guy asks politely. He's fiddling with the zip of his hoodie.

I nod. "I'm sending it back to England for his birthday."

The guy nods also in a kind of approving way, trying to mask the fact that he can't think of anything else to say about the guitar.

"I'm Taylor, by the way," he says, gesturing a little awkwardly at himself.

"Callie," I add with a smile, fighting a losing battle with the blood that's trying to rush to my cheeks. Then something clicks. Before I couldn't put his face to a name, but now I think I know.

"Are you Taylor York, from Paramore?" I ask hesitantly.

"The one and only," he jokes, a grin spreading across his face. It's infectious, and I can't help but to smile myself.

I can remember seeing Paramore videos on the music channels, constantly on 'Kerrang!' and 'MTV Rocks'. Tom would try and make me skip them, and a fight would ensue about who got to watch what. However, I always won. I knew that he liked Paramore, he just didn't want to admit it because I liked them first. Because we're so close in age, he's always had this thing about putting space between us, making sure that he has his interests and I have mine. I wonder what he'd say if he knew I was talking to Taylor York in a guitar shop in Nashville.

"So, can you play?" Taylor questions, pointing at the guitar again. There's a slight hint of red to his cheeks, but nowhere near how red mine get. It's embarrassing when I try to talk to guys and all that happens is my cheeks flare up viciously like stop signs, warning them away.

I laugh a little shyly. "No, I can't play. I tried to teach myself once, but I didn't get very far and my brother refused to help me. I can play a bit of bass though, I find that easier."

"If you can play bass then guitar should be relatively easy to pick up," Taylor comments, unable to meet my eyes all the time as he talks, his eyes flitting nervously between me and the Gibson.

I scoff. "No way, I don't have to strum on the bass."

"Honestly, guitar comes naturally if you can play bass."

"Maybe for you," I retort, enjoying the playful banter. It's nice to engage in a proper conversation after two weeks of awkwardness. "I didn't say I can play bass well, I said 'I can play a bit of bass'."

Taylor laughs, knowing he's been beaten. "Okay, maybe it's easier for me."

Our laughter dies away, both of us unable to think of anything to add. Rosy red has gained control of my cheeks and I can feel them pulsing with warmth. I must look like a tomato right now.

"Anyway," I say, glancing round the shop for a shop assistant, "I had better buy this guitar then."

Taylor just stands there fiddling with his hoodie zip as I ask the shop assistant about the guitar. The shop assistant quizzes me about whether I want an array of foot pedals and amps and other things that make no sense to me. I glance at Taylor, seeking help. I feel mean saying no to the shop assistant when he's being so polite but then I don't want to spend any more than I have to. My parents are funding me until I get a job, but I still feel like a bit of a parasite after I let them buy the house and the car and the plane tickets and everything else; I don't want to feed off them even more.

"Just the guitar, thanks," Taylor says to the shop assistant, who hurries off clutching the Gibson.

"Thanks," I say to Taylor, my smile tinged with embarrassment. Nevermind that I shouldn't be sent out to purchase a guitar, I just shouldn't be let out at all.

"No problem," Taylor replies, returning my smile. "Just doing my good deed for the day."

We both laugh again, which is something we seem to be doing a lot. The shop assistant returns with the guitar in a pale leather case, 'Gibson USA' written in black and gold on it. I pay the shop assistant, opting to use my credit card so that I don't have a disaster with coins and notes. Not that I have hundreds of dollars just lounging in my purse, but still, what could be more embarrassing right now than spilling coins or getting confused between them right in front of Taylor York. Maybe I should have a roaming trap door installed for those situations, so that it just opens beneath me when everything gets too cringey.

After paying, I slide the case off the counter, but I'm not expecting how heavy it is and I almost drop it. Taylor lunges forward instinctively and helps me balance it.

"You want me to carry that back to your car?" he suggests, properly meeting my eyes for the first time. His own eyes are a warm brown.

I can feel myself getting redder by the second. "That would be great, thanks."

Taylor takes the guitar from my arms, easily carrying it out of the shop. I keep in stride beside him, squinting a little against the glare of the sun as it arcs towards midday. The sky is peppered with clouds, but none of them seem to want to cross the path of the sun.

"So how long have you been in Nashville?" Taylor asks, shielding his eyes from the sun as we walk down the street. I hope I can remember where my car is.

"Two weeks."

"Are you living here permanently?"

"Yeah. It was a bit odd at first, but I'm getting used to it."

I direct Taylor round the street corner, trying not to catch myself on the case. I think tripping and face-planting the pavement would be even more embarrassing than getting in a muddle with the currency. Why is it that when I meet a guy my coordination and just general decorum go out the window? It seems the only time I can look normal when talking to a guy is when I'm sat down just generally doing nothing.

"So where in England did you move from?" Taylor continues with the polite questions, staving off any awkward silence that threatens to settle in.

"Chelsea, in London," I reply.

Taylor nods in that approving way again.

"You have no idea where in London that is, do you?" I clarify with a growing smile.

"No," Taylor laughs, caught out.

"It's in West London, close to the Thames," I answer.

"Oh, right, cool."

We reach my car and I unlock the boot. Taylor carefully places the guitar in the back, sticking his tongue out a little as he concentrates on trying not to drop the case. He shuts the boot behind him.

"Thanks," I say again, loitering on the driver's side of the car.

"You're welcome," he replies. "I hope your brother likes the guitar."

"He'd better," I joke and we both laugh for what must be the twentieth time. "I'd better get it shipped then, so I'll see you around," I add, opening the car door.

"Yeah, hopefully, see you around," Taylor answers, stepping onto the pavement.

As I pull out of the space, Taylor waves through the window, his smile making me blush even more. And as I drive off, I can't help but think of how he said 'hopefully'.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two – The Exchange

It's been three weeks since I saw Taylor York in that guitar shop. I sent the Gibson on its way alright, Skyped my brother on his birthday; he likes the guitar a lot, which is good, yet I didn't mention Taylor. There was something stopping me from doing so. Maybe I hadn't thought that Tom would believe me, or maybe a part of me – that pessimistic part – was thinking about how I'll never see Taylor again. Regardless of the 'hopefully' that I clung onto in the days afterwards, my head soaring in the clouds with a big grin, I don't have his number and he doesn't have mine, nor do I know where he lives. That would be a bit stalker-ish though. I almost don't want to know where he lives, as the whole situation is a little surreal.

So I'm getting on with my life. I have a job, finally, working for a publishing company. I'm just a secretary and the pay isn't wonderful, but it's work all the same. Now my parents can begin to withdraw their funding. Most people would be peeved about that, but I want my independence now. I'm twenty-two and I'm living in an entirely different country. In truth, I don't want to be known as that rich limpet girl who is the ray of sunshine blinding her wealthy parents into giving her money.

It's the weekend and I'm at Taco Bell with a colleague. Her name's Summer and she's about the only friend I have in America. She's all blonde ringlets and glowing skin, contrasting to my brown waves and pasty complexion. I don't tan. At all. I just burn. However I console myself with the fact that tanning gives you wrinkles when you're older. We're waiting in-line to order, and Summer is humming and hawing about what to get. She can't choose between a crunchy taco and a bean burrito. In all honesty, I don't actually know the difference between the two, which is quite ignorant of me. I'm not about to ask Summer though, that would be engaging into a fifteen minute conversation which will no doubt find its way back to her boyfriend. He's all she ever talks about. As we edge closer, however, I can make out the pictures above the counter. I can see a red taco, and as soon as the words 'volcano taco' swim into view, I have made up my mind. I want that one.

We're at the front of the queue now, waiting for a counter to free up. Heat is floating in from both directions, front and back, from the kitchen ahead of us and from the blazing sun outside. I should have moved to somewhere colder. I'd only moved to Nashville because we'd visited on holiday when I was younger and I'd fallen in love with the place. Now, it seems, my tolerance of heat has dwindled in those years. We have heat waves back in England, but this humidity is constant, pushing in from both sides all day everyday, like I'm wandering the streets in a tight box that happens to be painted black, just absorbing the heat.

"I'm gonna have the crunchy taco, it's Logan's favourite," Summer decides, managing to get another reference to her boyfriend in there. Maybe I'm being a little hard on her, but this heat just makes everything annoying. Every sentence is annoying, every sound, every voice of the people at the counters.

That's when I hear it, just brushing against my ears, like the smallest of clues. My head twitches up towards it, brow furrowed with concentration. And there he is, just metres away. You expect that when you see musicians and actors outside of the stage or screen, they'll be reading a script, or they'll have a guitar glued to their side. Seeing him in that guitar shop was easier to handle; he was surrounded by the instrument he plays, but in a fast food restaurant? It's like if I were to visualise the Queen right now, she can't be doing anything human, like eating. She has to be doing something regal. So seeing him like this, in a fast food restaurant, is just a little weird. Of all the places in Nashville.

Because there he is, Taylor York. Three weeks have gone by but it seems like I saw him yesterday. The only change is his clothes and the hint of stubble on his face.

I don't hear the girl behind the counter to our right shouting 'next'. Summer has to latch onto my arm and pull me over; I'm still going bog-eyed trying to look at Taylor. There was a part of me that had given up on keeping an eye out for him. I mean, how big is Nashville? And he washes up in one of the many fast food restaurants, the exact one that I happen to be in, at the same date and time as me. What are the odds? I only chose to come here because it's the closest fast food restaurant to my house. Does that mean that Taylor came here because it's near to his home too? I dismiss the thought; I'm getting my hopes up. And being weird.

Summer elbows me on the arm. "What do you want?" she asks, pointing at the menu above the counter. The girl behind the counter is tapping impatiently on the side of the cash register, her manicured nails clicking on the plastic.

"Erm..." I begin, breaking my gaze away from Taylor, who's just finished ordering, "can I get the volcano taco and... a cherry limeade sparkler please." I have no idea what a 'cherry limeade sparkler' tastes like, but I can vaguely recall Summer mentioning that she likes it.

I lean forward as casually as I can, peering round the customers until I can see Taylor, while Summer pays. If he were to see me now I'd be a red tomato all over again. But then I also want him to see me, to recognise me, that English girl he helped in a guitar shop. It'd be like something out of a rom-com. No matter how many times people say they're cheesy and they don't like them, everyone wishes their life would turn out like that – meet a guy, fall in love, fall out of love, fall back in love because he's really your soul mate. I admit that I would be ecstatic if my life played out like that. I'd give anything to not be a seventy-year-old spinster with twenty cats.

"What are you looking at?" Summer chirps behind me, squeezing past me to look down the counter in a much more conspicuous way. "Are you staring at that guy? That fat bald guy?" She's referring to the man on Taylor's right, who's currently hefting a huge paper bag into his arms.

"No!" I hurriedly dismiss. "The guy on the fat bloke's left, the one with the dark shirt."

Summer looks up at me suggestively, her blue eyes sparkling knowingly. "Do you like him?"

Blood soars into my cheeks. I haven't told anyone about meeting Taylor, and I've just gone and pointed him out to a bubbly, gossiping girl I've known for two weeks.

Summer gasps. "You do!" she exclaims, pointing at my flaming cheeks. "Do you know him? Who is he?"

I open my mouth to reply, a little part of me wanting to shout her down and just forget everything; the guitar shop, Taylor, everything. Do I know him? Really? I know _of_ him. But to say I know him is to imply that I've met him more than once before.

"His name is Taylor York," I answer eventually, the both of us still gaping down the counter at him. He has no idea what's going on, oblivious to the two girls staring at him. He's just standing there, reading the menu board while he waits for his food.

"Do you know him then?" Summer presses, her voluminous hair blocking my view a little.

"It's complicated," I say, not really knowing how else to put it. 'Yes' would be a lie, and in truth so would 'no'. My answer is in limbo.

"Ooh," Summer gasps, liking my reply more than I thought she would. "Is he like an ex-boyfriend or something?"

"No!" I exclaim again. "I've met him once."

"Oh I get it," Summer continues, "you met him and you liked him but nothing came of it. Am I right?"

I can feel my cheeks morphing into a deeper shade of red, as scarlet as the taco I just ordered. "Spot on," I answer reluctantly. I have a feeling that Summer is going to get into this.

"Go talk to him then," she pushes, moving out the way. Instinctively, I shuffle back, putting more distance between me and Taylor.

"What? No," I snap, my heart quickening, beginning its imitation of a pneumatic drill.

"Go on, talk to him, I'll grab our food."

The tug-of-war is flaring up again, but instead of my stomach, which is already in knots, its my reasoning that's acting up. One side of me sees this as my only chance, the other side sees this as suicide. Suicide of my heart, that is. Would Taylor ever really be interested in me?

"Go on, quick, he's leaving," Summer goes on. And sure enough he is. One of the employees is passing him his food. Just ten more seconds and he'll be out that door, and I'm not about to chase him across the car park.

"Just do it, what's the worst that could happen?" Summer nudges me in the back, pushing me in Taylor's direction. With that my mind has been made up. My feet are already on their way, the rest of me will just have to catch up.

I hurry across, squeezing through the queue. My tongue feels like a lead weight in my mouth, but somehow I manage to get it moving. "Taylor!" I call, forcing the most genuine smile I can muster onto my face. It's either that or the look of a panicked rabbit caught in the headlights. He turns at the sound of his name, glancing behind him, his shoes squeaking on the floor. His eyes rove the mass of people until they connect with me. A smile cracks on his face and I feel my heart do a nervous flutter.

"Hi!" he says as I stop in front of him. "Callie... from the guitar shop, right?"

"Yeah, and Taylor York, of course."

He pretends to flick hair from his face in a vain manner and we both laugh.

"Did your brother like the guitar?" Taylor asks almost immediately. I was flattered that he had even remembered my name, let alone that I bought that guitar for my brother.

"Yeah, he loved it, he was really pleased with it." I can feel my face prickling with sweat. I don't even need the sun to get me hot and bothered.

"Oh good," Taylor replies, clutching his bag of food. His shirt is rolled up to the elbows. "So... how long has it been for you in Nashville now?"

"Five weeks," I answer.

"You liking it here?"

"Yeah it's good. A bit hot, but you know, I'll get over it. I've got a job now so... yeah, I'm getting there." I laugh nervously, thinking of Summer back at the counter. I bet our food has come by now, she's probably watching the scene unfold from the safety of a table.

I spoke too soon.

Summer comes practically skipping up to us, the bag of food swinging in her hands. A huge, friendly grin is plastered on her face, lighting up her honeyed skin. "Hi!" she greets Taylor, glancing at me to show that she knows me. "I'm Summer, Callie and I work together."

Taylor returns her greeting. I have to say that I'm a little relieved. Other people might be jealous or peeved that they couldn't be left alone, but I'm grateful for Summer's intervention. I was floundering internally and somehow she knew it.

She turns to me. "Sorry, Cal, but we need to go." She grimaces apologetically at me, but there's something in her eyes that says otherwise. Is this some kind of ploy? I don't answer for a second and Summer's eyes flare in prompt. Then I see Taylor's expression, the sheen of disappointment and fluster that he's trying to conceal, and I now think I'm catching onto Summer's plan.

"Oh yeah we need to go," I add, sounding a little monotonous but Taylor doesn't seem to notice.

"Oh, okay," Taylor says, his warm brown eyes flicking between Summer and I. Summer starts moving off and he looks to me. "Why don't we swap numbers or something? Just in case, I don't know, we ever want to meet up?"

Summer, out of Taylor's vision, gives me a knowing wink and I have to hide my smirk. Summer's little intervention plan was simple, yet I'd never have been able to think of that.

"Sure," I answer Taylor, suppressing an ecstatic grin that's trying to make a break for freedom.

It feels a little surreal typing 'Taylor York' into my phone, and giving him my number is even stranger. I can sense Summer loitering behind him and I have to try and stop myself from going into a girly fit and running out the door, the two of us gushing about the entire situation while Taylor is left behind eating our dust.

"Well, maybe I'll see you sometime soon," I say, putting my phone away in exchange for the calm, friendly exterior I should have adopted from the beginning.

"Yeah, maybe, that'd be great," Taylor replies, his infectious smile joining in as him, Summer and I head out of Taco Bell.

"Bye Taylor!" Summer calls enthusiastically, dragging me off in the opposite direction.

"Bye!" he calls back, waving a little shyly. The sun lights up the deep brown of his short hair, illuminating the tell-tale curls lying in wait.

Summer turns back to me as we wander down the road, cars rocketing past us. "No turning that phone off now."

"You think he'll call?" I ask, doubt still trying to find its way in.

Summer scoffs and gives me a look that says, "Think? I know he will."

I hope he does.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three - Ringing

My phone's ringing.

_My phone is ringing._

I scrabble off the sofa and fall onto the coffee table, frantically turning down the volume on the TV. This could be it. It's been three days since I saw Taylor at Taco Bell. Three days since he suggested we should meet up. Maybe this is finally that moment.

"Hello?" I sound too out of breath and enthusiastic, like I've just run the London Marathon for charity.

"Hello dear!"

It's my Mum.

Even if I hadn't recognised the voice, I don't think Taylor would crow 'hello dear' quite so cheerily down the phone.

"Oh, hiya." All traces of enthusiasm are gone. The marathon organisers just told me that no one sponsored my run.

"Well don't sound pleased then," Mum grumbles. I can hear crooning in the background. Mum must have her Michael Bublé album on.

I sigh, feeling deflated. "Sorry Mum, I was expecting another call."

"Ooh, from who?" Mum perks up. Mum thinks every phone call I get, every letter, every email, every text is a boy asking me out, or my secret lover, or some eligible bachelor. I don't have enough fingers to count the number of times she's tried to set me up with the posh sons of her friends.

"Just my friend, Summer. We were meant to be going to the cinema today," I lie. I've always been good at lying. I suppose that's not something I should be proud of, but it's got me out of all those awkward match-making sessions.

"Well I'm glad you've made friends sweetie."

"Mum, I'm not five."

"I know dear, I was just merely pointing out the fact that you're settling in, and that's good."

"Yeah, I'm doing fine."

There's some commotion going on in the background, and I can hear Dad's voice, but it's muffled. "Sorry, Callie, but we've got a meal at the Sharp's to go to. I'll phone you tomorrow."

"Okay Mum, have fun at the Sharp's."

Mum groans. "I'll try. That woman is insufferable. Bye dear."

"Bye."

I collapse back onto the sofa, my stomach aching a little from when I smacked into the coffee table. Anyone would think I'm waiting for a phone call to tell me whether I'm about to die or not. I keep getting shaky legs and my palms are sweating like I have a fever. Summer told me not to ring him first, some kind of etiquette that must have passed me by when I was in high school, but the waiting is killing me.

A little disheartened, I trudge into the kitchen and start making another cup of tea. I don't have to go into work for the rest of the week as my boss is on holiday, and being his secretary I'm not really needed. I have to sort out the odd meeting and whatnot, but other than that I've been lounging at home watching crappy daytime television. I'm trying to wean myself off 'BBC America'.

Just as I'm spooning the sugar into the cup, my ears prick up. Mingling with the growling of the kettle, there's a faint ringing. At first I don't really know what to make of it, but then my brain connects the sound to an object and suddenly I'm slapping at the switch to turn the kettle off and I'm careening into the living room. I slow down just in time so that I don't whack the coffee table again. My heart hammering, I answer my phone.

"Hello?" I tone down the enthusiasm, but I still sound like I've been doing exercise.

"Hey, Callie, it's Taylor."

"Oh hi," I reply, forcing a control onto my happiness, though the grin is evident in my voice.

"So, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to go see a movie tonight? Then maybe grab a bite to eat afterwards?" I can hear nerves prickling his voice, and somehow this slows my heart a little. Knowing he's nervous too makes it seem a little better for me to be twitchy.

"Yeah, that'd be great. What film were you thinking of seeing?" I hope my voice doesn't sound as jittery as I feel.

"Um, well, I was gonna let you pick the movie..." Taylor replies, and even though I know he's doing this to seem gentlemanly, I feel caught out. I literally have no idea what films are on.

"Let me just get my laptop and I'll have a look," I say, keeping the cool constraint in my voice as I fling magazines off my laptop. Thank God I hibernated it or I could have just been sat here waiting for it to load as Taylor and I made awkward small talk.

"Yeah okay." That's the cue for the silence to kick in. I silently scream at my laptop to hurry up.

"So what cinema am I looking at, because I don't know any places in Nashville yet." I laugh nervously, willing the internet to load faster.

"What theatre?" Taylor clarifies.

"Yeah." I should have said 'theatre' rather than 'cinema'. And 'movie' rather than 'film'.

"Um... Green Hills? If you Google 'Green Hills 16' it should come up with the site."

By now, my laptop is fully functional, and with my phone clamped between my ear and my shoulder I find the website for 'Green Hills 16'. A list of cinema times comes up and I scan the list. I'm not about to be mean and subject Taylor to some kind of soppy romance, but then maybe a rom-com would be a safe choice? It'll just be a bit of a disaster if it's cheesy, but if it's funny then it would be perfect. To be honest, anything would do. But maybe it's better to play it safe and just pick your run-of-the-mill Hollywood blockbuster.

Then I see it. Perfection. 'Bridesmaids'. I've been wanting to see it for a while now and it's the perfect film to go and see.

"Have you seen 'Bridesmaids' yet?" I ask.

"No, but I really want to see it. Is it on?"

"Yeah. There's a showing at 4:35. By the time the film is over that'll give us enough time to go to a restaurant maybe."

"Sounds great. I'll book the tickets, and why don't I pick you up at... quarter to four?"

I give Taylor my address, sneakily checking an envelope so that I get it right.

"Cool, so I'll pick you up at quarter to four then," Taylor says and I feel my head go a little giddy.

"Okay, I'll see you then."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four – The Start

It's still blindingly bright outside, even though it's nearing four o'clock. It would be perfect if the day would start winding down, the heat slowly dissipating as a breeze flits in. But a gentle breeze, mind; I don't want to ruin my hair. As soon as the phone call with Taylor ended I sprinted upstairs to get ready. I spent an hour Skyping Summer all the potential outfits until she finally settled on one I'd ordered from 'La Redoute' just before I moved to Nashville: a soft, slightly baggy, pale pink jumper and a short, ruffled, grey skirt. I just slapped some flat pumps on my feet; I do not want to fall over.

Now I'm waiting like a lemon in my living room, sat on the very edge of the sofa so that I have a good angle of the front window and the TV. That way, I can see Taylor arrive but then I'm not loitering in a silent house with only my roiling stomach for company. Maybe I just shouldn't eat anything at all. There's the danger that I might regurgitate my popcorn, I'm that nervous. Back in London I had a steady boyfriend of two years – James – but we broke up not long before I decided to move to Nashville. So, in fact, I haven't been on a first date for two years, and I definitely haven't been on a date with a guitarist from a band, let alone a well-known one. And, to top it all off, I'm never very good on dates anyway. Well, this is going to be good.

The minute hand is creeping towards quarter to four. I've been ready for fifteen minutes now and a part of me wishes I had been running late, because then I wouldn't be waiting as a ball of nerves. With every rumble of a car engine outside, my head snaps to the window and I'm beginning to worry that I might end up with whiplash if I go on like this. All the cars pass by without stopping. Then, one of them does stop, pulling over into the space in front of my house. I feel my chest constrict and my stomach go into a maniacal frenzy of nervous excitement. I feel like a kid waiting in line to meet Mickey Mouse at Disneyland.

As I hear a car door slam closed, I wait with bated breath. With my luck, it'll be someone visiting my neighbours. Yet then through the slitted blinds I see Taylor round the front of his car. He falters for a minute, presumably to check that he's got the right house, then he turns onto the path leading up to my house. He's wearing a checked shirt in differing shades of blue and white and dark skinny jeans.

I hurriedly rummage through my bag, checking that I have my phone and chapstick and anything else I might need. I feel really awkward. I feel like the entire situation is awkward, and I don't know if it's because I can't fathom that Taylor would want to go anywhere with me or if it's just because I'm on a date after living in Nashville for only five weeks. I think it's a mixture of both.

I wish my stomach would stop twisting.

Taylor rings the doorbell and I wait a couple of seconds before opening the door; Summer said not to seem too keen. I can feel a grin breaking out as soon as I open the door like the suns rays shooting over the horizon at dawn.

"Hi!" I say cheerily, all of a sudden feeling self-conscious and excited.

"Hey!" Taylor replies, grinning himself. His hair still has a hint of curls, but it's obvious he's been using product. He's relatively clean-shaven but there's the slightest smattering of stubble on his jaw. "You look really nice," he adds, gesturing at me. By the way his eyes scrunch up a little I can tell he's holding back a nervous laugh.

"Thanks," I answer, feeling myself going red, again. "You don't look too bad yourself."

Taylor puts a hand on his heart and pretends to be overly flattered. "Thank you."

I can hear my own heart beating like a bass drum in my ears, pounding blood through my veins so that I'm redder than I wish to be.

"Shall we go then?" Taylor asks, pointing back at his car.

"Yeah, let's go."

Taylor walks alongside me down the path, and for a second I think of when he walked me back to my car after we'd left the guitar shop, and I smile. He opens the car door for me and I get in, biting back an excited squeal. Like I said, I haven't been on many dates, nor am I that good at them. Throw in the fact that I'm a bit of a hopeless romantic and someone opening the car door for me becomes a bigger deal than it actually is.

The drive to the cinema doesn't feel shy and awkward like I thought it would. Maybe it is a little at first, but we lapse into natural conversation and suddenly my anxiety diminishes with each sentence that flows from my mouth with ease. Even just chatting about Nashville proves enough to keep the conversation going and I am, in fact, surprised. After all, our previous meetings had always been a little awkward, scrabbling for questions just to stave off the silence. But now, in his company, I don't feel like that. Maybe it's because I know that I'm supposed to be here, as in this situation hasn't been sprung upon me like with the guitar shop and Taco Bell. Either way, I'm not complaining. Far from it, I'm actually enjoying myself.

By the time we reach the cinema, carving our way through the traffic, it's nearing 4:15. Taylor drives round the car park, searching for a space, until one finally frees up and he parks the car. As I step out onto the tarmac – I wasn't about to risk Taylor coming round to open the door as I would have definitely choked out a squeal then – a warm breeze hits me, languidly caressing my skin. A little part of me hisses at me for wearing a jumper, but it's actually quite light, the breeze penetrating the soft material. If the temperature drops later this jumper won't actually be much help. I glance up at the cinema through slitted eyes. The towering entrance encompasses a large, red sign that reads 'Regal Cinemas 16'.

Taylor is waiting at the front of the car, and as I walk up to him he begins to walk backwards, a smile still on his face. "Okay, what do you want to eat?"

I purse my lips. "What do they have?"

Taylor opens his mouth to reply, his brown eyes looking up as he thinks. "Popcorn, nachos-"

"Have you memorised the entire list?" I interrupt laughing.

"Yes," Taylor replies simply, his fingers paused in mid-air as he was counting off the food.

"Nachos will do fine," I say before he can go on.

"Jalapeños?" he asks, and from the inquiring look in his eyes I get the feeling that this is a test.

"Of course."

He grins. "Good choice."

I catch up with Taylor and he stops walking backwards, turning round to face the right way. "What are you having?" I ask him.

"If you're having nachos then I'll just have popcorn."

"Sweet or salty?"

"Sweet."

"Good choice," I answer, mimicking him.

We enter the foyer of the cinema and the cool draft of the air-conditioning washes over us. "Are you planning on picking at my nachos?" I quiz Taylor, a smile breaking through.

He returns my smile, a mischievous glint to it. "Yes. Are you planning on picking at my popcorn?"

"Yes."

"Then I guess we're even."

We join the queue to get our food and Taylor checks his watch. Even though he opened up more during the drive, there's still a slight shyness about him, like he's shrouded in a fine mist that only parts of his personality can penetrate. But then I suppose that I must seem exactly the same to him. I remember how at school I would barely say anything during lessons, and the teachers would always pick up on that at 'Parents Evening'. They would say I was quiet, when in reality I was bored. I couldn't understand how they were unable to determine between the two, because outside the classroom I was loud and a little bossy at times. So I guess that the loud part of me has been in restraint this whole time, and she's only now beginning to emerge when I'm around Taylor.

The line is moving slowly; at this rate we'll be creeping around in the dark to find our seats as the film begins. I glance at Taylor. His eyes seem relatively calm, his brown irises soft and warm, but he chews on his bottom lip.

"So," I start, looking to diffuse the silence, raising my voice a little over the noise swirling about our bubble, "what were you doing in that two week gap between the guitar shop and Taco Bell?"

A smile tugs at the corners of Taylor's mouth. "Just rehearsing with Hayley and Jeremy, writing material for the new album. Usual band stuff, you know... rocking out."

I laugh. "Rocking out?"

"I'm in a rock band, what else am I supposed to do?" he jokes. "You know it's not actually me on guitar, I'm just there to headbang and... look pretty."

"I thought as much. It was pretty obvious you were only in that guitar shop for show," I say, going along with the joke. I can feel my muscles relaxing a little, my anxiety ebbing.

"Yeah I don't actually know anything about Gibson's, I just liked the colour."

The jokes continue to fly while we buy our food, and by the time we take our seats in the screen the film is just starting. During the film, we end up laughing so hard that we're both doubled over. It feels natural, like laughing with him is something I've been doing all my life. I've never had that kind of feeling before, not even with my closest friends. I always found that I could distance myself from them if needs be, but there's something different with Taylor. I can't put my finger on it. Maybe I'm imagining things, or maybe I want it to be like that so bad that I believe it's happening. But by the end of the film I feel different, like something clicked. Is this the start of something?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five - Eyes

After the cinema we head to The Cheesecake Factory. I already feel full at the thought of it. I know what the portions are like here after holidays to America. They're huge; I could never finish what was on my plate, let alone have enough room afterwards for a slice of cheesecake. They should install those Roman vomitarium's so that when you get full – which you will – you just have to go and stick your fingers down your throat and 'hey presto!' you have room for more. However, now that I think about it, I don't think that would make a good impression on a first date.

Outside the sun is dipping below the horizon, sending the sky into a milky fury of pinks and oranges. The breeze is light and cool, somehow stirring the nerves in my stomach, but I quiet them. Taylor and I walk side by side, and at times our arms are so close that they almost touch. There's a sense of calm about us now, the nervous tension having dissipated into the cool evening air. The conversation flows freely as we laugh about the film, reliving the scenes with dramatic hand gestures. Then we're in the restaurant, seated at a table, ordering our food as though we've done this a thousand times.

Then, as the waiter leaves, something in Taylor's expression changes. His smile falters, then drops altogether, and I swear his cheeks pale. He stares behind me and I feel my heartbeat crank up a notch.

"What is it?" I ask, my mind racing through anything and everything – there's a spider on my shoulder, there's a gunman in the doorway, Taylor really has a girlfriend who's sat right behind us.

Taylor's eyes focus and he shakes his head, a frown creasing his brow. "Nothing, nothing, doesn't matter," he mumbles, suddenly really interested in folding his napkin.

I look behind me anyway, my heart slowing but my curiosity peaking. My eyes scan the tables behind us, forehead scrunched up with concentration, until something draws my gaze back to a particular table. There's a couple sat a few tables back, sitting side-on to us. After a few seconds of outright staring, I realise who I'm looking at, and I turn back to Taylor.

"Is that...?" I begin, gesturing with my thumb to the couple.

Taylor nods solemnly. "Yeah."

"Josh Farro?" I clarify, feeling my eyes grow wide unexpectedly. I remember reading the articles on how Josh and his brother Zac left Paramore on bad terms, leaving the band as a trio. I know that the split wasn't exactly the most amicable.

Taylor nods again, chewing on his bottom lip, head down.

"Who's that with him?" I ask, referring to the girl that Josh is sat with. My voice automatically grows quieter, as though Josh has bat ears and can hear us talking about him over the thrum of the busy restaurant.

"His wife, Jenna," Taylor answers, still sounding sombre. His head is cast down, but he eyes Josh and Jenna through his eyelashes.

I release the breath I've been holding, a little exasperated now. I look directly at Taylor, forcing him to return my gaze. "Taylor you can't let Josh rule your life like this. Forget about him. So what if he's sat over there? He's not a part of your life any longer, just drop it." I sound like I know what I'm talking about, and in truth I do. I've spent so many years discarding and gaining friends, some of them disposable, others ones that I hated losing, so I can imagine how hurt Taylor must be feeling.

Taylor breaks my gaze for a second to glance at Josh again – Josh, who's oblivious to the entire situation, chatting away to his wife. Then Taylor sighs hard and leans back in his chair, releasing the tension in his shoulders. "You're right," he says. "Sorry," he adds, looking at me with a sincere smile.

"You're welcome," I reply, returning his smile.

We spend the rest of the evening in the same fashion as before Taylor had noticed Josh – laughing, smiling, talking as though we don't have a care in the world. I feel a few knots twist inside my stomach every now and then, flushes rising in my cheeks, but overall I am a lot less nervous than how I started the day. However, I can't stop a niggling in the back of my mind. I don't know what it is, but it's distracting. Yet I realise what's bugging me when I knock my knife on the floor. I bend down to pick it up, but another hand gets there before me. I look up, expecting to see Taylor or a waiter, but instead my eyes lock with Josh Farro's. He holds the knife casually, offering it back to me, but there is an intense look in his eyes that unnerves me.

"Thanks," I say, retrieving my knife with a feeble yet polite smile. I glance at Taylor, who's eyes are darting everywhere from me to Josh to the napkin in his lap.

"No problem," Josh replies, a tense edge to his voice. He looks to Taylor then and simply says, "Taylor," in a kind of strained greeting.

Taylor nods in recognition, his awkwardness showing through more than Josh's. Speaking of Josh, he's actually starting to creep me out a little the way he was just there. I don't know whether to be flattered by his politeness; after all, he could have just walked straight on past and left me to pick up the knife; or if I should be wary of him.

Finally, Josh smiles courteously at me and carries on walking, following the signs for the toilets. Once again I release the pent-up air in my lungs, unable to stop the confused laugh that comes with it.

"That was... odd," I say, an unsettled smile on my face. Taylor's expression is the same, laughing off the situation with me, but I think both of us are feeling a little awkward about what just happened. I say that, but it must have been worse for Taylor, seeing as Josh actually acknowledged me more than he did Taylor.

"I say we should finish the next course then get out of here, before I start dropping napkins and glasses and plates and Josh just happens to be there to pick all of them up," I joke, trying to make light of the situation, not mentioning the fact that if _I _stay any longer then I'll be inadvertently wrapping myself up in the tensions between the Farro's and Paramore.

"Yeah, agreed," Taylor laughs, still looking a little perturbed.

Our desserts swiftly arrive and just afterwards Josh returns from the toilets. I try not to catch his eye, practically going bog-eyed in the process, but it's one of those situations when you know you shouldn't do something, but that just makes you inadvertently do it anyway. So, in the end, I lock eyes with Josh again as he passes the table, and I feel my cheeks heat up. We smile at each other respectfully again, but there's still that intense look roiling in the brown of his irises, and I quickly return my gaze to my food.

After paying, we get up to leave, passing Josh and Jenna's table. Luckily, we're only able to pass on Josh's side, meaning he has his back to us and no one has to engage in any staring competitions. But as Taylor opens the door for me, I can almost feel Josh's eyes boring into us.

By the time we reach my house, I've almost forgotten about Josh, but he's still imprinted as an unnerving presence in the back of my mind. Taylor walks me to my door, yet I keep my cool.

"That was great thank you Taylor," I say, trying not to use that high-pitched polite voice that I seem to put on when talking to important people or boys I like.

"Yeah it was awesome hanging out properly," Taylor replies.

"Better than a guitar shop or Taco Bell," I laugh, and Taylor laughs too.

"Definitely better than them."

Before any silence can kick in, I move forwards and kiss Taylor on the cheek. When I pull back he laughs a little nervously, but his grin is big and genuine and I have to bite back any awkward grimace that threatens to surface.

"Well thanks again, Taylor," I say, slowly backing towards the door.

"Any time," Taylor replies, still grinning, "'night Callie."

"'Night."

Taylor walks back to his car and I retreat into my house, feeling as though the happiness inside me could outshine a thousand suns.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six – Meet and Greet

As the days go by, Taylor and I go out every day. The second day he takes me to an Italian restaurant where we get a batty waiter who comes out with the strangest things, and also takes an unhealthy liking to my freckles. I'm surprised we didn't leave the restaurant with the expressions of confused amusement etched onto our faces. The third day he takes me bowling and I have to admit that we both got a little competitive. He says he let me win, but I think that may just be a lie. The fourth day we go to the Music City Walk of Fame, followed by lunch in a quaint little café. The fifth day is dinner at a Mexican restaurant, and I feel a pang of nostalgia as it makes me think of Taco Bell, which now seems like that was months ago. The sixth day we go and see another film. Then on the seventh day, he takes me to Radnor Lake Park. He hires some bikes, and by now I'm feeling a little bad at the fact that he's paid for everything we've done. I also feel a little worried about falling off my bike as I haven't ridden for years; I just haven't had time. But my worrying is stupid and I'm perfectly fine. The rules only allow us to ride on the roads and we can't go over 10mph, but when no one's around we speed up. Near misses with rangers means we have to brake suddenly, and our giggling probably gives us away, but nobody notices. The best bit? When we abandoned our bikes and followed a trail, and when no one was around Taylor dipped his head to mine and kissed me. That feeling of happiness like the pulsing glow of a thousand suns washed over me again, spreading through my limbs with the soft languidness of the lake below us.

With all the days we've spent in each others company, I've begun to wonder if he's even spoken to Hayley and Jeremy. He's spoken _of _them, but until now I haven't seen them myself. And that 'until now' is important, because I'm currently sat in Taylor's living room with them. It was, in fact, a bit of a shock. Taylor phoned me and invited me round, and when I turned up and knocked on his door, Taylor opened it with a big grin on his face, swiftly taking my hand and leading me inside, saying, "There's some people I want you to meet."

We rounded a corner and I walked straight into a wall of nervous excitement, all because Hayley and Jeremy were sat before me in Taylor's living room. Hayley was sat clutching a slightly crumpled piece of paper, while Jeremy was holding his bass.

"Guys," Taylor began, grabbing their attention, "this is Callie."

Hayley and Jeremy simultaneously looked up from whatever they were working on and greeted me with genuine smiles.

"Hey," Hayley said. Her hair is even brighter in real life. "I'm Hayley." I felt like crying with the excitement and anxiety of the entire situation, but Taylor was still gripping my hand. I could feel the slight calluses on his fingertips from playing guitar.

"Taylor's told us a lot about you," Jeremy added. "In fact he won't shut up." He grinned as Taylor gave him a look that said 'yeah thanks I hate you'.

Taylor lead me over to one of the sofas and we sat down.

"Taylor says you've got an English degree," Hayley said to me, looking genuinely interested. Usually people don't want to hear about it, so I rarely bring it up. They think English is boring; they'd be more interested if I had an astrophysics degree or something.

"English Literature and Creative Writing," Taylor and I chorused in correction, smiling at each other afterwards as everyone laughed.

"Yeah, I combined the two courses as it gave me a better degree," I replied.

"Wow," Hayley answered. "Where did you study?"

"University of London."

"I wish I'd gone to University," Hayley mused.

"And miss out on Paramore?" Jeremy exclaimed, mock horror on his face.

Hayley laughed. "Yeah, true, I'd rather be in Paramore. But still, it would have been a good experience." Hayley looked to me. "Bet you could write better lyrics than me."

I scoffed. "No way. Lyrics and poetry are not my strong point. I'm better at prose, screenplays, that kind of stuff."

Hayley offered the crumpled piece of paper in her hands to me, a smile on her face. "Take a look anyway, I want to see what an English Lit student thinks."

So I now find myself reading Hayley's lyrics, Hayley herself actually looking quite excited. They are, of course, brilliant. I don't know if she's looking for me to fault it or what. But as I read the lyrics I see they're a lot happier. There's no accusing 'you' or anything like that. The more I read though, I start to discern what the lyrics are about, picking the lines apart like when I was annotating poetry.

I pass the sheet back to Hayley, who's grinning expectantly. "It's about a girl who feels she needs to hide behind a persona because she's too insecure, but then she realises she doesn't need that," I say.

"Argh, I was hoping you wouldn't get it," Hayley replies, her bottom lip pouting a little as she smiles.

"They're really good lyrics though," I add, feeling myself go a little red.

"Thanks," Hayley answers and we exchange smiles.

I realise Taylor's still holding my hand and I know I'm only growing redder by the second. I hope my hand doesn't get sweaty.

"Well," Jeremy starts, shifting in his seat as he adjusts his bass, "we were working on a song, but now that you're here I guess we could take a break." He smiles mischievously and Hayley groans, dropping her head into her hands as she laughs.

"We're never going to get this album done," she says.

"We can just get Callie to write the lyrics, that's one part sorted," Taylor chips in as everyone laughs.

"I'm sure I can write the chords and the melody and everything else while I'm at it," I quip.

Hayley nods in mock, over-the-top approval while Jeremy points to me and proclaims to Taylor, "I like her."

"Yeah," Hayley exclaims, dragging the word out. "Welcome to the band, Callie." She leans over the coffee table and high-fives me.

Taylor looks at me and smiles encouragingly. He squeezes my hand too, unknowingly disturbing the butterflies in my stomach. It's a little surreal being sat in Taylor's living room, holding his hand while Hayley Williams and Jeremy Davis laugh and talk with me. Yet it's also quite welcoming and warm, and I suddenly realise that in the days I've spent with Taylor I haven't felt home sick for England. Nashville is feeling less and less like a foreign city and more like my home from home.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven - Mistakes

Taylor, Hayley and Jeremy decided that they'd be working solidly writing music for the next two weeks, and everyday they've invited me round to listen in. It's meant Taylor and I haven't been able to spend as much time alone, but let's just say we've taken full advantage of the breaks. Take that what way you will.

Today, I offered to go out and buy everyone a coffee from Starbucks, or in my case any drink with chocolate in it. Taylor spent ages trying to decide what he wanted, and kept calling me back every time I left the room thinking he'd made his mind up. I tried to look annoyed with his flightiness, but he'd just laugh and get flustered and grin at me, so I wasn't able to look even slightly annoyed as my own smile gave me away. Eventually I just wrote down everyone's choice on a list on my Blackberry.

Now I'm at the back of the queue, squinting at the menu board, but people in front of me keep getting in the way and soon enough the writing just blurs into a white, indistinguishable lump. I sigh huffily and whip out my phone, checking back to the list. The door to Starbucks opens behind me, a humid draft colliding with my back. I continue to scroll through my phone, absently looking at old emails as I have nothing better to do while waiting in line. Then a slightly sweaty guy in front of me shifts his weight, inching closer to me, and I step back instinctively to avoid his stained t-shirt pressing into my face. But as I step back I walk into whoever's behind me and now I'm trapped between BO bloke and a stranger. The stranger behind me moves out of the way, allowing me to put enough space between me and Mr. Sweaty. I turn around to apologise to whoever I stepped on, but suddenly the words get stuck in my throat like dry bread.

It's Josh Farro.

You know those situations where it's so awkward you just want to laugh? That's exactly what it's like right now; I could just laugh right in Josh's face because I can't think of a single thing to say. Do I act like I don't recognise him? Should I be friendly towards him? Should I just say 'hi' then blank him from then on in?

Josh just stares down at me, looking a little awkward himself, but that intense look is still wrapped around his irises, making me squirm.

"Oh, hi," I say, smiling politely, trying not to let myself be too put off by the sharpness of his eyes.

"Hi again," Josh replies, his eyes darting off to the right for a second before returning to their intensity. "I'm Josh, by the way."

"Callie," I reply.

"So you were with Taylor, at The Cheesecake Factory?"

"Yeah." What else can I add? I don't really want to elaborate or anything because I don't know what Josh is like. He could be a bit of a twat like that blog post made out, or he could in fact be alright. There's two sides to the whole thing. There's the spiteful Josh in the exit statement and the calmer Josh in the MTV interview. One of those could be a persona, and I don't want to get on the wrong side of him. This isn't my fight.

"So are you and Taylor together?" Josh asks. The door opens again and the warm draft twines through Josh's hair, ruffling it.

I feel my cheeks redden and I internally shout at myself to stop it. "Yeah, I guess." It's the first time I've actually properly thought about it. I don't really put labels on things, like 'boyfriend and girlfriend' as that just sounds too kiddie. But I suppose that's what Taylor and I are.

"So how is Taylor?" Josh continues with his 20 Questions. I feel like saying, 'why don't you ask him yourself?', but that could come across more bitter than it's meant to be.

"He's fine, just writing songs."

"Taylor's a really good writer." Why is he telling me this? What's with all the questions? It feels like he's just filling in for something he wants to say but doesn't know how to. "So how's everyone else? Jeremy and Hayley?" he adds, and I feel like just punching him and saying, 'stop asking me, ask them yourself if you really care'.

"They're a lot happier," I say before I can stop myself, and I almost slap my hand over my mouth. I'm being too bitter, too judgemental. This isn't my fight. That came out entirely wrong.

Josh's polite smile disappears and I feel my stomach drop. "Some people aren't too happy and there's not a lot I can do about it," he retaliates. Was that a dig at me as well as at Paramore?

"Well, what you said was hurtful, and people don't really know who to believe. I suppose maybe if you had been a bit more tactful then you'd at least be on talking terms with the rest of Paramore," I reason, scraping out any bitterness from my voice. I don't want to make this any worse.

"What, so like I can't say the truth?" Josh says, and I can tell he's getting angrier as the seconds go by.

"You can say the truth without hurting the fans, and without hurting Hayley. You picked on Jeremy but you saved a lot of the hate for Hayley." I feel a sense of pride rush into me. I've known Hayley for nearly two weeks now, and I know that's not enough time to fully discern someone's character, but not once has she been bitchy towards me or bossy about the band. I just think it's unfair. I suppose I'll never know what went on during the years Josh and Zac were in Paramore, but if Hayley was a bitch she doesn't seem like one now.

The corners of Josh's mouth downturn and the intensity grows in his eyes. "What do you care anyway? Why do you even care about Hayley?"

"Because," I start, not really knowing what to say. "Because what you said about her was nasty." I can feel my cheeks heating up, mirroring Josh's own anger. "And because I haven't actually seen the bitch you described. She's been nothing but nice to me."

"She'll turn on you when she can't get her own way," Josh almost seems to blurt out. The rage in his eyes quickly fizzles out, the firework having exploded, and a look of regret flickers in its place. The corners of his mouth right themselves and his lips part in shock. I don't know now whether that statement was meant to be nasty to me or Hayley.

I stare at him in disbelief, now no longer wary of meeting his eyes. I can't think of anything to say over the swirling mass of anger in my head, screeching round, snagging any reasonable thoughts before they can voice themselves. So instead of saying anything I just storm past Josh.

"Look, Callie," he tries to begin but I ignore him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Callie wait. Callie! I'm sorry, alright?"

I keep on walking, out of Starbucks, across the car park. I don't stop till I'm in my car and safely driving away. I've known Josh for, what, five minutes? And he already finds it in himself to argue with me? I know I started it but I tried to end it; I tried to apologise in a roundabout way. Why did he have to go and be like that?


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight - Sour

"He's an idiot!"

"What? Who? Who's an idiot?" Taylor replies as I stomp into the house. He shuts the door behind me tentatively, as though a loud noise could make me even angrier.

"Josh," I clarify.

"Josh!" Hayley exclaims as her and Jeremy wander into the hall, presumably to see what all the shouting is about. There's a troubled look in Hayley's eyes that's only making me feel worse about the whole confrontation. "When did you see Josh?" she adds.

"Just now, at Starbucks."

Jeremy shifts from foot to foot in an agitated manner. "I guess we haven't got any coffee then. First he quits Paramore then he stops us from getting coffee?"

Everyone laughs at Jeremy's attempt to lighten the mood, but the laughter is muted, just a hum.

I sigh. "Sorry."

"It doesn't matter, it's fine," Taylor says, interlinking his fingers with mine. His hands are warm, but there's a slightly icy, concerned look in his eyes and a furrow to his brow.

The same look is in Hayley's eyes as she leans against the banister of the stairs. It makes her look more fragile. "What happened with Josh then?"

I explain to them how it started off pretty amicable with Josh, if a little awkward, then I had a bad case of foot-in-mouth syndrome and the conversation just went downhill from there. When I get to the part where Josh slagged off Hayley I feel myself internally wince, thinking I might upset her, but she continues to watch me with no change in expression, listening attentively.

Hayley sighs, a slight tinge of annoyance to her words as she groans, "He's _still_ hung up on this? I thought he'd moved on. I thought we all had."

Taylor doesn't say anything and instead grips my hand even harder. I look up at him and smile reassuringly. He returns my smile, but it's weak.

"I guess he hasn't got over it then," Jeremy answers Hayley, scratching his forehead absently.

"I did put my foot in it though," I reason, not really knowing why I'm sticking up for Josh. I think it's just because I can see how upset this makes them, so I want it to blow over too. If I try and make it seem like the whole thing was my fault then maybe they'll believe it and they can move on, forget about Josh.

"Was Zac with him?" Taylor suddenly asks, looking down at me with a fervour wrestling the sadness in his eyes.

"No, he wasn't." I can't make out the expression on Taylor's face, but he releases my hand and wraps an arm around me instead, pulling me to him. I hug him, wrapping my arms around his neck, but now is not the time for girly excitement at the fact that he's hugging me; this is more for his comfort than mine.

"Maybe I should call him, you know? Try and set things straight once for and all. We can't keep going on like this," Hayley says, one hand on her hip in an attempt at defiance, to try and inject some strength into herself.

Jeremy shakes his head. "Let him calm down first before you try anything."

As Taylor releases me from the hug, one arm still around my shoulders, I say, "He did apologise though, for what he said about Hayley. Maybe he is getting over this and I just stirred something up."

Hayley sighs again and smiles at me. "Yeah, but Jeremy's right – let's just give Josh a few days to cool off before we do anything. _If_ we do anything."

Soon afterwards, Hayley and Jeremy have to go, leaving me and Taylor. We're in his kitchen, and I'm sat on the counter-top swinging my legs as Taylor prepares some burritos. His tongue sticks out the side of his mouth as he works, forehead creased with concentration. I can't help but to laugh and he wheels around and glares at me, but the smile pulling at his mouth gives him away. At least he's cheered up quickly.

"I'm starting to think everyone's stalking me in this city," I start, still swinging my legs like two pendulums. "First you in the guitar shop and Taco Bell, now Josh in the Cheesecake Factory and Starbucks. If you take out the guitar shop, there's a pattern of 'food' emerging."

"Next on the list of stalkers – Elvis," Taylor replies, waggling his eyebrows at me.

I continue to watch Taylor prepare the burritos while I mull over bringing up _that_ topic again. I feel bad about it. I feel like I've just stepped in a patch of mud and now my foot's stuck there and I can't get myself out.

"Sorry," I finally say, my swinging legs coming to a stop.

Taylor turns around, that look of concern in his eyes again, except the icy quality is gone from it. "For what?"

"For digging up the whole Josh feud again." I almost switch back to the 'Josh is a bloody idiot' mindset, but I stop myself.

Taylor sighs, but there's no look of anger in his eyes. "It's fine, Callie, honestly. Don't worry about it."

He looks down at his hands then, covered in sauce and filling from the burritos, and laughs. He holds his arms out anyway and I slide off the counter and walk into them, twining my arms around his chest. I pull back and he leans in to kiss me, soft and tender as his lips press against mine. Then he grins at me and smears sauce on my face. I leap back, wiping off sour cream and salsa. I scowl at him and he just laughs, his brown eyes shining when before they had been cold. At least we're both feeling better now.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine - Apology

The next day, I'm sat at my desk at work, waiting like I do everyday for my boss to tell me I can go. He's out of the office so much that, in truth, he doesn't really need me in the office either. So a lot of the time he tells me I can work from home, which basically just involves me going round to Taylor's, sorting out notes and phone calls while I'm there. My boss likes to do a lot of the arranging himself, which is fine by me. I think I might just be a lowly secretary for the rest of my life.

I glance at the clock again, then look over my shoulder. Through the slitted blinds I can make out my boss shuffling and stacking papers, juggling a coffee and checking his laptop simultaneously. I hope that means he's getting ready to leave for the day.

Suddenly, an airborne ball of paper collides with my face and I flinch. Scowling, I'm about to throw it in the bin and glare about the room when waving arms catch my eye. I look over to see Summer grinning at me. She smiles apologetically to someone walking by who she almost slaps, then gestures at me to open the paper. I unscrew the paper to reveal Summer's message: How's everything with Taylor? I haven't heard from you in a while.

I wince, biting my lip. I have been neglecting Summer. I hadn't meant to, and in fact I'd called her quite a few times during that first week I went out everyday with Taylor. Summer and I had spoken a lot, at work during breaks and over the phone, but then after work I'd been going round to Taylor's, spending more time chatting with him, Hayley and Jeremy than with Summer. And then the argument with Josh yesterday has been entirely on my mind. But maybe it would be good for my peace of mind if I told her about what happened with Josh. She could give me a fresh perspective, a view from someone outside the argument. So that's what I write as my reply on the paper, outlining everything, from how well me and Taylor are getting along, to hanging out with Jeremy and Hayley, to running into Josh. I have to make my writing extra small to squeeze into all on the piece of paper, but writing it all down is quite offloading.

When the way is clear, I throw the paper back to Summer, who catches it nimbly. I feel like I'm back in a classroom at school, passing notes to my friends. Somehow the teachers never saw those soaring notes, but they'd always notice when I threw a pencil or a ruler to a friend who'd asked for it, and I'd get a right telling off.

Summer reads the note then lobs her reply back: Whoa, you've had an eventful few weeks. Why don't I come round yours later? We can talk then and you can get your head clear of your hectic lifestyle for at least a few hours ;)

I throw back my agreement. I can live without seeing Taylor for one day, and maybe then Taylor, Hayley and Jeremy can actually get some work done rather than all of us just talking.

A few hours later, Summer and I are sat cross-legged on my sofa, the TV blaring in the background but neither of us watching it. The light from the setting sun seeps in through the blinds, illuminating the gold and white ringlets of Summer's hair.

"So is this Josh stalking you then?" Summer asks, trying to look freaked out and concerned for me but the excitement and curiosity of a potential drama is evident in her eyes.

I shake my head. "No, it's nothing like that, we were both just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Saying the wrong things," Summer adds.

"Yeah," I agree with a sigh. If ever there was a worse time to put my foot in it.

"Well, don't get caught up on it. It's not like Josh is gonna charge round to your house and shout at you or anything. He doesn't even know where you live," Summer babbles, fiddling with one of her ringlets. "Although he could find out. I mean, my boyfriend, Logan – you know Logan, right? - he found out where I lived by looking me up in the phone book. Are you in the phone book?"

"Yes," I reply, "but it's not like he's going to look me up in the phone book just so he can come round here and argue with me. Besides, he only knows my first name and there are probably tons of Callie's in Nashville."

Summer frowns. "Yeah, I guess you're right. And Logan did know my last name, so..." She trails off then gasps. "But he must know where Taylor lives. Maybe he's over at Taylor's _right now_ holding him hostage till you turn up."

"I don't think that's likely, Summer," I dismiss; I don't think my life has quite escalated to that of a thriller yet, I think I'm still in the romantic-comedy zone.

"What about twitter?" Summer suddenly chirps, brightening all over again after I dismissed one of her theories.

"What about it?" I ask warily, wondering where this is going.

Summer sighs irritably, like I really should be keeping up with her. I don't know if I want to. She's going to send me on some hare-brained scheme. "Well, Josh has twitter, right?"

"Yeah, I follow him."

"And that proves that, obviously, you have twitter too."

"Summer, I'm not apologising to him or talking to him or whatever you want me to do over twitter," I say with exasperation, interrupting where Summer was going.

"You don't have to tweet him, like, publicly, you can just send him a Direct Message," Summer retaliates.

"But Summer, he's not following me. I can't send a DM to someone who's not following me."

Summer's face drops. "Oh, yeah," she frowns. And then her face lights up all over again. "However, you could just send him some kind of encrypted, riddle kind of tweet. So it's public, but only he would understand it."

I grimace. "No, Summer, that's just weird."

She shrugs. "Then why don't you just send him a tweet saying 'sorry about what happened in Starbucks the other day'. He'll tweet back 'don't worry about it, I'm sorry too' or something like that, and everything is good again. Well, he could always tweet back something nasty but I don't think he'd do that on something as public as twitter."

I sigh, but it's more of a groan because I know that I don't have any other options. I don't know where he lives, I don't have his phone number, I don't have his email address; my only hope of potentially sorting things out is twitter. "Fine, okay, I'll do it."

I reach over to the coffee table and retrieve my laptop, pulling it onto my lap. Opening the internet, I type in the web address for twitter, my fingers already getting a little sweaty at the prospect of what I'm about to do.

All of a sudden, Summer gasps, her hand shooting out to clutch my knee as she grins at me. "Does Taylor have twitter?"

"Yes..."

"You could tweet him something that, like, hints at your relationship and then all the gossip sites will be like 'ooh'."

"Yes, maybe if I was a slag, Summer, but I'm not."

She frowns at me, looking puzzled. "What's a slag?"

"A whore."

"Oh, okay."

I sign into twitter and just sit there, staring blankly at the 'what's happening?' box. My fingers twitch over the keyboard, itching to just write something and get this over and done with. I take a deep breath and start typing: 'Joshfarro87 Hey Josh, it's Callie. Just wanted to say sorry about what happened in Starbucks. No hard feelings?'.

I look up at Summer. "Shall I put a smiley face?"

"Yeah."

With the smiley face added, I swivel my laptop round to show Summer what I've written. "Sound alright?" I ask her.

She reads it and says, "Looks alright to me. Send it."

I hesitate for a second before pressing 'Tweet'. As the message reappears in my timeline, I feel that one weight has been lifted from my shoulders only to be replaced by another one. I may have got the apology done, now I'm just waiting on the reply. That's if Josh even sees the tweet.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten - Anticipation

I'm over at Taylor's, getting ready to go round and see Hayley, and I can't seem to find the guts to tell him how I tweeted an apology to Josh. Taylor obviously hasn't looked at my twitter recently, and I hope he doesn't any time soon. I have no idea what his reaction will be. Speaking of reactions, I have even less of an idea what Josh's reaction will be; he still hasn't got back to me.

Taylor is rifling through his drawers, grumbling to himself about how he doesn't know where his socks go. I'm loitering in the doorway to his bedroom, arms crossed as I deliberate on whether to tell him about the apology or not. I glance around the room and shift in the doorway, when I notice what looks like an airing cupboard. Indifferently, I open the door expecting to find towels or a boiler or something, but instead there are shelves upon shelves of garden gnomes.

"Taylor, why on earth have you got a cupboard full of garden gnomes?" I ask him. He looks up from a drawer and blushes, a smile creeping across his face.

"I like gnomes," he says sheepishly. "That one's my favourite," he adds, pointing, "the one bowling."

Sure enough there's a gnome bowling, his cheeks pinched red like rosy apples and an excitable smile on his face. I shut the door to the cupboard, suppressing a baffled laugh.

Taylor gives up looking for socks, shrugging as he says, "I'll just go without socks." The he adds in a gruff voice, "Men don't need socks." He stuffs his feet into his converses.

I roll my eyes but I'm laughing anyway as Taylor laces his fingers through mine and pulls me down the stairs. As I mentioned, we're going round to Hayley's, as everyone's taking a day off from doing any work. They managed to at least get part of a song penned down yesterday during my absence.

Once we're round at Hayley's, instead of going up to her front door Taylor jogs over to a set of slanted doors in the ground. It must be a basement, else Hayley lives in some kind of hobbit hole. Taylor reaches down and tugs on the door handles, but the doors don't open. He knocks on them and after a few seconds of impatient silence he proceeds to leap onto the doors with two feet, ricocheting off them. He stumbles a little then regains his balance as I laugh at him.

The doors swing open to reveal Hayley standing there, glaring at Taylor but she's laughing all the same. "Taylor you can just knock rather than jumping on it," she reprimands him. She looks to me with a look of mock sincerity and adds, "I feel for you, I really do."

"I did knock, and you didn't answer," Taylor retorts, "so maybe you should just... answer your... basement doors." He pouts, his brow furrowed, but Hayley just laughs and waves him in.

"For that I'm making you watch a horror movie," she says as we walk down the steps into her basement.

"No!" Taylor wails.

"Why do I hear wailing?" comes Jeremy's voice from below us. He pokes his head round a corner.

"We're gonna make Taylor watch a horror movie," Hayley explains nonchalantly.

Jeremy's face lights up. "The Saw movies!"

Taylor pretends to gag while Jeremy reasons, "T, it's broad daylight outside."

"And we're in a basement!" Taylor retaliates.

Hayley throws herself down onto her sofa. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, strands of flame-orange hair coming lose to frame her face. "You know any good horror movies?" she asks me.

"Erm, I like zombie movies," I offer.

Hayley gasps and high-fives me. "I love zombies!" she exclaims. "I feel in the mood for something creepier though, not gory."

Taylor eyes her with a sickly look on his face. "Either way I'm not gonna like it, am I?"

Hayley grins while Jeremy answers, "Nope."

Hayley looks to me again. "So what's the scariest horror movie you've ever seen then?" Her eyes shine with anticipation.

"'Wolf Creek'," I reply, "it was traumatising."

"Really?" Hayley answers with a grin. "Let's watch that!"

"No," Taylor interjects before anyone else can say anything. I elbow him playfully and he elbows me back, then he gives me a stern look.

"No 'Wolf Creek' then," I say, grinning at Taylor as I speak, "we don't want to upset Tay."

Eventually we settle on 'Creep', which was my choice. I know for a fact that it's pretty scary from sporadic clips I've seen when my parents watched it a few years back. I left the room almost as soon as the scary music came on. With all four of us squashed onto Hayley's sofa, Hayley rents the film from Netflix via Apple TV. Halfway through Taylor tries to make a break for it, mumbling something about needing the toilet, but I snatch his hand and pull him back down onto the sofa. It's not exactly the best horror movie ever made, but it serves its purpose as we jump and shout a lot, especially Taylor. Then, towards the end of the film, I pretend to check my Blackberry, looking for any excuse not to watch this section of the film, when I notice that I have an update from twitter. I glance at the others to check that no one's watching me, but their eyes are all glued to the screen.

It's a Direct Message from Josh and I feel my heart kick up a notch. Please say this is the apology I've been hoping for; I want to stop worrying about it before it begins detracting from my relationship with Taylor. The message says: 'Apology accepted, don't worry about it, I was a bit of an asshole myself, so I'm sorry too'.

I bite back a sigh of relief. Feud aborted. At least I hope so. That apology was meant for me, not for Taylor or Jeremy or Hayley. I have a feeling there'll be more opportunities for arguments and apologies there. After all, my row with Josh stemmed from one a lot bigger.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven – Calm Before The Storm

Jeremy left soon after the film to go and see his girlfriend Kat, while Hayley got a phone call from one of her sisters which she went upstairs to take. So that leaves Taylor and I sat cross-legged on Hayley's sofa in the basement, facing each other. I shouldn't still be nervous around him, but every time I see him butterflies are set loose in my stomach. At the nape of his neck his hair is blonde, flicking outwards, and before I can stop myself I reach out and twine my fingers through it. Taylor smiles, and if I didn't know better I'd think he was blushing. He slips his fingers through mine and I notice how warm his hands are. He leans forward and kisses me-

Then my phone rings.

I pull away from Taylor and sigh heavily because I know exactly who it is. It's my Mum. She said she'd call yesterday but she has no understanding of time zones, so when that call never came I knew she had somehow got confused. I flash Taylor a look of apology and answer my phone.

"Hi Mum," I say, injecting some cheerfulness into my voice. I shouldn't be annoyed about having to talk to my Mum, but she doesn't half have a knack for calling at the wrong times.

"Hi love, what are you up to?"

"Just with Taylor-" I immediately slap my hand over my mouth. Taylor looks at me with a confused expression.

"Who's Taylor? Is that a boy?" Mum quizzes me, getting noticeably more excited by the second.

"What, you haven't told her about me?" Taylor whispers at me.

"No," I whisper back, covering the receiver as Mum babbles on with her questions. Is he good-looking? How old is he? Where did I meet him? Etcetera etcetera.

Taylor pouts. "I'm offended."

"You don't know what she's like. She'll be trying to get you on the end of the phone in a minute, a barrage of questions at the ready."

Taylor grimaces. "Yeah, I don't think I'm ready for that."

"Callie!" I can hear Mum shouting down the phone. "Are you going to tell me about this boyfriend of yours or what?" I see she's already jumped to the conclusion of boyfriend. 'He' could be a 'she' for all she knows. I haven't told her anything.

"Mum, please don't do your usual," I groan at her. I can feel my cheeks heating up.

"And what would that be?"

"Your usual 20 Questions. I'd like it if you didn't scare him off. Besides, he's easily scared." Taylor pokes me hard on my arm and I squeal out an 'ow' as I laugh.

"Callie, I'm your mother, I'm meant to ask these things," Mum retorts.

"Alright, alright," I surrender.

"So..." Mum begins, drawing out the word with an expectant excitement. Maybe I should tell her that Taylor is a homeless man, that would get rid of her.

"Mum, not while he's sat opposite me," I whine, looking at Taylor sheepishly. He's just sat there grinning at me. "I'll call you later."

"Okay dear, don't forget!"

"I won't. Bye."

I end the call, Taylor still grinning at me. Scarlet blood refuses to drain from my cheeks. "Is your mom always that enthusiastic?" he asks me.

"Unfortunately, yes," I reply, giving him a look that says 'I am dreading the day she meets you'. Some day soon my family will be coming to Nashville to visit me, and if Taylor and I are still together (which I really hope we are) then my Mum will be harping on at me to introduce him. And I haven't even met Taylor's family yet.

"Have you told your family about me?" I ask him a little nervously.

Taylor bites his lip as he smiles. "They've kinda guessed. I'm not the best liar."

Suddenly, Hayley comes charging down the basement stairs, her ponytail bouncing around. "Storm warning!" she shouts, a mixture of anxiety and excitement on her face.

"What, a tornado?" Taylor asks.

"Seems like it," Hayley replies, scrolling through her phone at some news article or weather report. "You two can stay here if you want. I'll just text Jerm, make sure he and Kat know. Don't want them getting blown out of the restaurant."

"Wow, this'll be my first tornado," I say, not really knowing how I should feel. Excited? Scared? Nervous? Probably excitement until the tornado blows in, then I'll be burying my face in Taylor's shirt.

"Aww, I'll look after you!" Taylor says in a voice that you'd speak to a baby with, wrapping me in a bear hug so that the side of my face is squashed against his chest.

"Says the guy who's hand I had to hold during 'Creep'," I quip, but he only squeezes me harder.

Hayley hurries up the steps to the basement doors and pushes one of them open, poking her head out. I can hear the wind beginning to howl outside, whistling through the trees with portent of what's to come.

"Sure looks like a storm's on its way," Hayley calls down to us. Taylor finally releases me and we climb up the steps to stand by Hayley. The sky is an ominous grey, clouds a roiling mass from one end of the horizon to the other. I have to admit that I love storms. That feeling of portent is the one I like the most. But I don't know about tornadoes. Maybe I won't like them. After all, thunder and lightning and scudding rain is generally harmless. But 100mph winds?

Taylor looks down at me and grins. "Scared yet?"

I shrug, trying to look indifferent. "I'm a little nervous."

Taylor reaches out an arm to wrap around my shoulders as we continue to watch the clouds. Then Hayley spins around and says, "I'm checking on the TV."

We follow her back down into the basement, where she switches on the TV. And sure enough there's some news bulletin about a tornado. I'm now starting to feel a little anxious. Maybe the tornado will hit and I'll have a feasible excuse as to why I never phoned Mum back. Mum's 'boy talks' are scarier than a tornado.

An hour or so later, the tornado blows through. The hatch doors rattle and the light bulb flickers overhead. I don't know if the tornado is close to the house, but it certainly sounds like it . There was a tornado in Birmingham back in England once. It just waltzed down the streets. It wasn't very big and it didn't last too long, but it did some damage; it was all over the news. I grip Taylor's hand and he rubs my arm soothingly. Then my phone buzzes and I jump a mile. We all laugh a little nervously. I check my phone. It's a twitter update. 'Joshfarro87 is now following you on twitter!'. Oh great. Does he have nothing better to do during a tornado?


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve - Uninvited

Once the tornado has blown over or died or whatever it is that tornadoes do, Taylor drives me home. The roads are littered with twigs and branches and bits of rubbish, like there's been a rave in a park. Taylor has to manoeuvre the car around the debris, which he does so with his tongue sticking out in concentration, penetrated by one girly scream when we felt and heard a branch crunch under the wheels of the car. We looked at each other with wide-eyed grimaces, but as Taylor continued on the car seemed fine.

"It was a good thing Hayley saw that Tornado Warning," Taylor comments.

"Yeah," I reply. "You think it passed close?"

Taylor peers out of the window. "Nah, I think it was further off. There'd be more damage otherwise. There's just branches and trash thrown about here."

"It still made a racket."

Taylor smiles in amusement, his eyes meeting mine. "I don't think tornadoes come with mute buttons."

Through the windscreen I can see that the clouds are dissipating, thinning out like unravelling thread in the tornado's wake. I'm glad that I was with Taylor to sit it out. I admit that it was a lot scarier than I thought, and if I had been sat at home when that swirling mass had torn by I don't know what I would have done.

As we sit in traffic lights I look to Taylor, biting my lip. "Thanks," I say, not really knowing how to elaborate. "For being there." I shrug a little sheepishly.

But Taylor just smiles softly at me and reaches a hand across to squeeze my own. I squeeze his hand back, feeling a heat rise into my cheeks. "No problem," he replies, and I could swear there's a pink tinge to his cheeks too. Then his eyes flick to my mouth for a second, and I know where this is going as he leans across. His lips brush mine almost timidly and my heart leaps. Then his lips crush against mine and I feel as though my heart is threatening to burst. My fingers trace the side of his face, skimming the stubble on his jaw as his own long fingers twine into my hair.

Suddenly, a car horn blasts behind us and we hurriedly pull away from each other, Taylor quickly putting the car into drive as we see that the traffic lights have changed to green. We both smirk as we glance at each other, stifling laughter. It seems like we're always getting interrupted.

As Taylor turns onto my road I notice another car parked in the space beside mine. It's a red hatchback, and I know exactly who that belongs to – Summer. The sun glints off the vivid paint work as Taylor drives past to park further down the road. As we walk up to my house, Summer's blonde, bouncy ringlets spring into view. She's sat on my swing seat that hangs from my porch, rocking it back and forth.

"Summer!" I call out to her, and her head snaps to look at me. As Taylor and I turn onto my path, a grin cracks onto Summer's face. "You weren't sat out here waiting for me during the tornado, were you?" I add.

"Of course not!" she cries. "Though it would have been one hell of a ride on this swing seat."

As we walk up the porch steps, I gesture to Taylor. "You know Taylor."

"Yeah, Taco Bell guy," Summer says, grinning mischievously at both of us.

"Is that my new name?" Taylor asks.

"Just to me," Summer replies.

"Well, I'd better leave the girls to their girly chat," Taylor says. He turns to me and we hug, before stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets and making his way back down the path.

When Taylor is out of ear shot, Summer pouts at me. "You two are the cutest thing I have ever seen."

I blush and playfully push her. "Shut up," I whine as I unlock the door and we go inside. "Anyway, why were you loitering outside my house?"

"Well," she begins, shutting the front door behind her, "I want to know how it went with Josh. Did he get your tweet? Did he apologise too?"

I feel a little bit of my happiness waning, now that Taylor is gone and conversation has returned to Josh. "Yeah, he apologised. It's all fine now."

Summer doesn't answer, and I turn round from switching off the alarm. She's looking at me with a funny glint in her eye, a look that only another girl would know. I sigh a little irritably. "Summer, he's married! And you have a boyfriend!"

Her face drops, replaced by a grimace that says, "Oh yeah, you're right."

I scoff laughter. "Summer! What happened to 'Logan this' and 'Logan that'?"

She rolls her eyes. "Ugh, don't even talk to me about him. We had an argument and we're just gonna let things cool down for a few days."

"You alright?"

She sighs. "Yeah, I'm fine."

As I pull my phone out of my pocket I suddenly remember that I was meant to call my Mum. I know I was putting it off before, but now I feel bad. And I am her daughter, she does have a right to know about who I'm with.

"I was meant to phone my Mum," I say, looking at Summer apologetically. "I let it slip about Taylor and know she wants to know _everything_."

"Well how about I give you some support as only a friend should, aka make an excuse for you if you can't handle the questions any more," Summer answers.

During the phone call, Summer sits beside me on the sofa, my Mum unknowingly on speaker. She asks so many questions that the air is swimming with them, question marks revolving round my head. 'Name?' 'Age?' 'What does he look like?' 'Is he American or have I managed to bag myself a nice Spaniard?' 'How long have we been seeing each other?' And then she gets to the question I've been dreading: 'does he have a job?' How do I answer that question without being like 'OMG MUM HE'S A GUITARIST IN A BAND, GOOGLE HIM, _GOOGLE HIM!'_? Maybe I should just tell her to google him and then I can just end the call and refuse to talk to her after she's looked him up. But it seems that Summer is way ahead of me, as she snatches the phone from my grasp and shouts, "Google Taylor York!" before hurriedly ending the call.

I glare at her. "Summer!"

"What? Oh come on, don't tell me you weren't thinking of doing the same thing."

I can't conceal the guilty look on my face. Then I burst out laughing. "Mum's gonna have a heart attack!"

Summer laughs along with me. "She's gonna see a Wikipedia page, loads of stuff about Paramore, Google Images as well!"

"Oh God, she'll be going mad with excitement. It gives her something to brag about to all of her snobby friends. And their sons, for that matter."

Suddenly my phone starts ringing again. "It's Mum," I say. "Do I answer it?"

"Answer it, answer it!" Summer replies excitedly, practically bouncing up and down on the sofa.

I do. "Hi Mum." My voice is tentative as I wait for the screaming to begin.

There's silence for a few seconds, then Mum answers, sounding very flustered. "Callie, am I looking at the right person?"

"Well, I'm guessing so..."

"'Taylor Benjamin York, born December 17, 1989, is an American rock guitarist and is currently a member of the alternative rock band Paramore'," Mum reads, presumably from Wikipedia.

"Yep, that's the one."

"But-" Mum starts, speechless for once in her life. Then she seems to shake the silence off her and gets her mouth moving again. "Well, I'll have to tell your Dad, and I'm sure your brother will accuse the both of us of lying, and I'll have to tell the Sharp's because that'll really annoy them. And now I'm going to _have_ to get Dad to book those plane tickets."

"Oh, but Mum-"

"No buts, Callie. Me, your Dad and Tom will come over to Nashville to see you. Ah, here's your Dad now, I'll speak to you soon Callie, say 'hi' to Taylor for me, bye!" She puts the phone down, leaving me to stare blankly at the screen of my phone.

Callie erupts into laughter. "Wow."

I groan and flop back onto the sofa. Great. Chapter Twelve - Uninvited

Once the tornado has blown over or died or whatever it is that tornadoes do, Taylor drives me home. The roads are littered with twigs and branches and bits of rubbish, like there's been a rave in a park. Taylor has to manoeuvre the car around the debris, which he does so with his tongue sticking out in concentration, penetrated by one girly scream when we felt and heard a branch crunch under the wheels of the car. We looked at each other with wide-eyed grimaces, but as Taylor continued on the car seemed fine.

"It was a good thing Hayley saw that Tornado Warning," Taylor comments.

"Yeah," I reply. "You think it passed close?"

Taylor peers out of the window. "Nah, I think it was further off. There'd be more damage otherwise. There's just branches and trash thrown about here."

"It still made a racket."

Taylor smiles in amusement, his eyes meeting mine. "I don't think tornadoes come with mute buttons."

Through the windscreen I can see that the clouds are dissipating, thinning out like unravelling thread in the tornado's wake. I'm glad that I was with Taylor to sit it out. I admit that it was a lot scarier than I thought, and if I had been sat at home when that swirling mass had torn by I don't know what I would have done.

As we sit in traffic lights I look to Taylor, biting my lip. "Thanks," I say, not really knowing how to elaborate. "For being there." I shrug a little sheepishly.

But Taylor just smiles softly at me and reaches a hand across to squeeze my own. I squeeze his hand back, feeling a heat rise into my cheeks. "No problem," he replies, and I could swear there's a pink tinge to his cheeks too. Then his eyes flick to my mouth for a second, and I know where this is going as he leans across. His lips brush mine almost timidly and my heart leaps. Then his lips crush against mine and I feel as though my heart is threatening to burst. My fingers trace the side of his face, skimming the stubble on his jaw as his own long fingers twine into my hair.

Suddenly, a car horn blasts behind us and we hurriedly pull away from each other, Taylor quickly putting the car into drive as we see that the traffic lights have changed to green. We both smirk as we glance at each other, stifling laughter. It seems like we're always getting interrupted.

As Taylor turns onto my road I notice another car parked in the space beside mine. It's a red hatchback, and I know exactly who that belongs to – Summer. The sun glints off the vivid paint work as Taylor drives past to park further down the road. As we walk up to my house, Summer's blonde, bouncy ringlets spring into view. She's sat on my swing seat that hangs from my porch, rocking it back and forth.

"Summer!" I call out to her, and her head snaps to look at me. As Taylor and I turn onto my path, a grin cracks onto Summer's face. "You weren't sat out here waiting for me during the tornado, were you?" I add.

"Of course not!" she cries. "Though it would have been one hell of a ride on this swing seat."

As we walk up the porch steps, I gesture to Taylor. "You know Taylor."

"Yeah, Taco Bell guy," Summer says, grinning mischievously at both of us.

"Is that my new name?" Taylor asks.

"Just to me," Summer replies.

"Well, I'd better leave the girls to their girly chat," Taylor says. He turns to me and we hug, before stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets and making his way back down the path.

When Taylor is out of ear shot, Summer pouts at me. "You two are the cutest thing I have ever seen."

I blush and playfully push her. "Shut up," I whine as I unlock the door and we go inside. "Anyway, why were you loitering outside my house?"

"Well," she begins, shutting the front door behind her, "I want to know how it went with Josh. Did he get your tweet? Did he apologise too?"

I feel a little bit of my happiness waning, now that Taylor is gone and conversation has returned to Josh. "Yeah, he apologised. It's all fine now."

Summer doesn't answer, and I turn round from switching off the alarm. She's looking at me with a funny glint in her eye, a look that only another girl would know. I sigh a little irritably. "Summer, he's married! And you have a boyfriend!"

Her face drops, replaced by a grimace that says, "Oh yeah, you're right."

I scoff laughter. "Summer! What happened to 'Logan this' and 'Logan that'?"

She rolls her eyes. "Ugh, don't even talk to me about him. We had an argument and we're just gonna let things cool down for a few days."

"You alright?"

She sighs. "Yeah, I'm fine."

As I pull my phone out of my pocket I suddenly remember that I was meant to call my Mum. I know I was putting it off before, but now I feel bad. And I am her daughter, she does have a right to know about who I'm with.

"I was meant to phone my Mum," I say, looking at Summer apologetically. "I let it slip about Taylor and know she wants to know _everything_."

"Well how about I give you some support as only a friend should, aka make an excuse for you if you can't handle the questions any more," Summer answers.

During the phone call, Summer sits beside me on the sofa, my Mum unknowingly on speaker. She asks so many questions that the air is swimming with them, question marks revolving round my head. 'Name?' 'Age?' 'What does he look like?' 'Is he American or have I managed to bag myself a nice Spaniard?' 'How long have we been seeing each other?' And then she gets to the question I've been dreading: 'does he have a job?' How do I answer that question without being like 'OMG MUM HE'S A GUITARIST IN A BAND, GOOGLE HIM, _GOOGLE HIM!'_? Maybe I should just tell her to google him and then I can just end the call and refuse to talk to her after she's looked him up. But it seems that Summer is way ahead of me, as she snatches the phone from my grasp and shouts, "Google Taylor York!" before hurriedly ending the call.

I glare at her. "Summer!"

"What? Oh come on, don't tell me you weren't thinking of doing the same thing."

I can't conceal the guilty look on my face. Then I burst out laughing. "Mum's gonna have a heart attack!"

Summer laughs along with me. "She's gonna see a Wikipedia page, loads of stuff about Paramore, Google Images as well!"

"Oh God, she'll be going mad with excitement. It gives her something to brag about to all of her snobby friends. And their sons, for that matter."

Suddenly my phone starts ringing again. "It's Mum," I say. "Do I answer it?"

"Answer it, answer it!" Summer replies excitedly, practically bouncing up and down on the sofa.

I do. "Hi Mum." My voice is tentative as I wait for the screaming to begin.

There's silence for a few seconds, then Mum answers, sounding very flustered. "Callie, am I looking at the right person?"

"Well, I'm guessing so..."

"'Taylor Benjamin York, born December 17, 1989, is an American rock guitarist and is currently a member of the alternative rock band Paramore'," Mum reads, presumably from Wikipedia.

"Yep, that's the one."

"But-" Mum starts, speechless for once in her life. Then she seems to shake the silence off her and gets her mouth moving again. "Well, I'll have to tell your Dad, and I'm sure your brother will accuse the both of us of lying, and I'll have to tell the Sharp's because that'll really annoy them. And now I'm going to _have_ to get Dad to book those plane tickets."

"Oh, but Mum-"

"No buts, Callie. Me, your Dad and Tom will come over to Nashville to see you. Ah, here's your Dad now, I'll speak to you soon Callie, say 'hi' to Taylor for me, bye!" She puts the phone down, leaving me to stare blankly at the screen of my phone.

Summer erupts into laughter. "Wow."

I groan and flop back onto the sofa. Great.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen – Surprises

"Salsa?"

"Check."

"Guacamole?"

"Check."

"Tortilla chips?"

"Check."

"Wraps?"

"Check."

"Chicken?"

"...No."

Taylor stares at me with a look of apology and confusion on his face. He looks so innocent just standing there, wearing a baseball cap, while he clutches the trolley.

"How did we miss the chicken? That's like the main ingredient?" I say, scanning the shopping list with a bewildered look.

We're in a supermarket buying all the ingredients so that Taylor can help me prepare a meal for my family tonight. Their plane gets in sometime in the afternoon and I have to pick them up from the airport. No doubt Mum will be nagging at me to see Taylor, but I'm holding off that little meeting; Taylor's not staying for dinner. Besides, I've been in Nashville all this time and I haven't even met Taylor's family yet.

Taylor turns the trolley around and we head back up the aisle towards meat, when I notice Taylor looking at me from the corner of his eye.

"What?" I ask, his smirk making me smile.

"My parents have been saying they want to meet you," he replies, still smirking in that 'what have we got ourselves into?' way.

I groan laughter. "I always get so nervous meeting parents. And now not only do we have my parents to contend with we have yours as well."

"I feel like a new celebrity couple that everyone talks about, it's insane."

"I think you mean my Mum's insane," I reply, "she just blows everything out of proportion."

"I kinda wish all we had to do was say 'hi' and then leave," Taylor answers, manoeuvring the trolley round an elderly couple who are trying their best to block the aisle with their own trolley.

I sigh. "I suppose if we just do the awkward hello's and the meals and stuff, then we can get it all out of the way."

We get to the meat aisle, the cool air rolling from the shelves and biting at my bare arms. I go to reach past Taylor for the chicken I want, but he steps into my path. I glare up at him, trying not to smirk but I can't help it. I move around him but he gets in my way again, so I try his other side but again he moves. I push against his chest but he holds his ground so it's like pushing against a bookcase; it wobbles slightly but doesn't budge.

"Taylor!" I whine, yet he just grins and wraps his arms around me instead, so I'm trapped in another one of his bear hugs. He's warm, which is a comfort against the Arctic conditions of this aisle.

"Can I get the chicken now?" I ask, my voice a little muffled against his chest.

"You want the chicken?" he says sarcastically. "You should have just said, Callie! Ugh, honestly."

He releases me and I slap his arm jokingly, still failing at hiding my smirk as I reach past him and grab the packet of chicken strips I was after. He rubs his arm, pouting at me, but I ignore him.

I glance at the list. "That's everything then."

We head back to the tills and I pay, for once. Taylor offered but I feel bad that he's paid for everything. Once outside, Taylor pushes the trolley across the car park, evidently looking as though he's trying not to flat-out run with it. Then suddenly he stops and shouts, "Hey Chad!"

I turn to where Taylor's looking and I see a guy coming over to us. He has really short dark hair, a sleeve of tattoos and is of a big build. "Hey T," he replies, his smile friendly.

"This is Callie," Taylor says gesturing to me, "and Callie, this is Chad."

"Hey, yeah, Hayley's mentioned you," Chad says. "You moved here from England, right?"

"Yeah, over a month ago now," I answer, feeling the smallest stab of home sickness for England, but I quickly brush it aside.

"Cool," Chad replies. Then recognition sweeps over his face and he quickly turns to Taylor. "Oh, T, just to say me and Hayley ran into Zac earlier, and he asked about you."

"Really?" Taylor asks, a childlike surprise on his face.

"Yeah, you know maybe you and Zac should meet up some time, or at least talk. Sort things out," Chad suggests.

Taylor opens his mouth to reply but he doesn't say anything, so I nudge him encouragingly with my elbow and finally he speaks, "Yeah, maybe we should. I'll give him a call sometime."

Chad smiles sympathetically. "Well, I'd better go, Hayley wants me to pick up some stuff. It was nice meeting you Callie."

"You too," I reply.

"See you around," he says, waving as he walks off towards the supermarket.

"Bye Chad!" Taylor calls back. He smiles, but the look in his eyes tells me that his mind is elsewhere.

When we got back to my house, Taylor helped me make everything ready for the dinner. We got in a bit of a mess making the burritos, and more jalapeños ended up in my mouth than in the burritos themselves, but all in all it was fun making the food with Taylor.

Then I got the phone call I had been waiting for from my parents; Mum, Dad and Tom were waiting for their luggage at the airport. Taylor and I quickly finished preparing the food then we went our separate ways – him back to his house and me to the airport. When I picked up my family Mum looked a little disappointed that Taylor wasn't with me, but it didn't stop her from strangling me with a hug while all the cab drivers looked on with amusement. Driving everyone back to my house, I suddenly had that feeling where I wanted them to be proud of me. To be proud of my house and my job and my new life. And to be proud of Taylor.

Now, we're all sat round my table, Tom taking more of his fair share of the nachos, Dad chomping on a burrito and Mum helping herself to the wine.

And then the conversation turns to Taylor.

"So," Mum begins, a glimmer in her eyes, "when do we get to meet this rock star boyfriend of yours?"

Tom scoffs laughter. "Rock star boyfriend," he mumbles. I don't know if he's not approving of the term 'rock star' or the fact that Mum's used it to describe Taylor. Either way, I eye him suspiciously from across the table.

"Um, soon?" I reply. Can she just accept that answer and not delve any more into the subject?

Mum goes to say something else, but Dad rolls his eyes and interrupts her, "Give it a rest, Susan, leave the poor girl alone."

Suddenly my phone buzzes, but it's on vibrate so my family just go right on talking. I slip my phone out of my pocket, making sure Mum's not looking else she might think I'm texting Taylor and she'll get all excited again. The text is from an unknown number, but when I open it the text reads: "Hey it's Taylor, I'm on my brother Chris' phone because I left mine at yours. Is it alright if I come round and get it? I'm waiting for a call from Justin x."

I glance behind me and sure enough there's Taylor's mobile on my sofa. I bite my lip and text back: "Yeah you're phone is on my sofa, but my family is here... x."

I leave my phone on my lap and pretend to be listening to the conversation. Maybe I was right when I told my Mum she'd be seeing Taylor 'soon', because 'soon' seems to have come much quicker than I had intended.

My phone buzzes again and still my family don't notice. The reply reads: "Oh yeah... I suppose meeting your parents for a minute won't be too bad, if I make an excuse that I have to be somewhere x."

I text back: "Okay, let's just get it over with x."

A minute later, Taylor replies: "See you in a few minutes then x."

I feel my stomach tighten, as though someone has grabbed it and is wringing it out like a wet dish cloth. I've always hated the whole bringing-boyfriends-home-to-meet-the-parents thing. Mum gets all excited and overwhelms them, Dad gets all critical and Tom just takes the piss. At least this will just be a flying visit so there won't be enough time for an interrogation.

But do I tell my family he's coming over? Or do I just wait for the doorbell to ring and I let him in? Maybe I should give them some warning so Mum won't go crazy with excitement when I answer the door.

I fiddle with my fork uneasily, working up the nerve to say something. Then comes a lull in conversation and I go for it. "Um, Taylor's coming round in a minute-"

"What?" Mum interrupts, her face beaming.

"-because he left his phone here and he needs to get it," I finish, clarifying everything before Mum starts laying him a place at the table and Dad gets his notepad out ready for the questions. "He's not staying."

"Oh well," Mum says, barely disheartened. "At least we get to meet him."

A couple of minutes later, the doorbell goes and I feel my heart leap into my throat. It's like being a teenager all over again. I'm twenty-two, I shouldn't be nervous about this. But I am.

I get up to answer the door. I'm tempted to just pick up Taylor's phone, open the door, shove it into his hands and shout, "Go! Go! Go!" like a drill sergeant. Yet that would be rude and with parents it's all about first impressions; I don't think a glimpse of him through a doorway and no 'hello' would bode too well.

I open the door and Taylor is waiting outside. He flashes me a look of nervous panic that I return, but then we both threaten to laugh and we have to hold the convulsions back in favour of polite smiles. Taylor steps inside and I hear everyone stand up from the table; I cringe internally.

"Hello, so you must be Taylor," Dad says, offering his hand for Taylor to shake, which he does.

"Yeah, it's nice to meet you Mr. Evans," Taylor replies.

Oh god, please don't do the cringey 'please, call me Martin'.

"Please, call me Martin."

Oh bloody hell, he did it.

I try not to wince and show my obvious discomfort. I hope I'm never a cringey parent. I mean, my Dad goes posh and puts on his 'adult voice', while my Mum gets excitable.

Mum introduces herself, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, while Tom just gives Taylor a nod, pretending to be indifferent but I can tell he's jealous because he knows that Taylor can play guitar better than him.

Taylor glances at me. "It was great meeting you all but I really have to be on my way."

I reach over to the sofa and retrieve Taylor's phone, passing it to him.

"Well it was lovely meeting you too, Taylor," Mum replies, still grinning from ear to ear.

And with that the ordeal is over and I feel my heart leave my throat and nestle back into my rib cage. Taylor leaves and my family go back to the meal, although Mum's happy smirk remains in place. Now all I have to look forward to is the inevitable dinners with parents, Taylor and I at the centre of it. I just hope there's no drama for us to deal with...


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen - Questions

This wasn't my idea. To be honest, I'm cringing at the thought of it. Dinner theatre? Dinner theatre? Is it a dinner or a theatre? But I agreed to come here with my family tonight if we could go our separate ways tomorrow. So now I'm getting out of the car, smoothing out the creases in my dress and the creases in my forehead; if I sulk, my parents won't release me from their grip tomorrow. I thought I had escaped cringey family outings.

Tom elbows me as he walks past, a smug grin on his face. He's not happy to be at dinner theatre either, so he'll channel that unhappiness into embarrassing me to make himself feel better. I follow my family inside and my heart sinks. It's the layout. I can't handle the layout. The tables are close together round the stage which means I'm going to stand out like a sore thumb when everyone around me is having a whale of a time.

A happy-go-lucky waitress takes us to our reserved table. I'm sat side-on to the stage, which is fine by me because I can just eat my food really slowly and thereby miss the show.

People begin to file in, the noise level rising from a murmur to a large mixture of loud voices, tables talking between themselves. My Mum actually looks quite pent-up with anticipation and I have to force myself to hide the discomfort on my face; I'm not looking forward to this. If anyone tries to make me sing or get up on stage I cannot be held accountable for any destruction that ensues.

My parents get talking to the table behind them while my brother excuses himself to go to the loo, leaving me all alone on my side of the table. I sigh and prop my elbow on the table, supporting my head with my hand.

"Yeah I'm not having much fun either," a voice behind me says. Startled, I spin around in my seat, because I know that voice. It's Josh.

"You get dragged here too?" I ask him, trying to wipe the expression of shock off my face. The last thing I want to do is annoy him and start another argument.

"It was Jenna's idea," he clarifies, his smile a little awkward but at least he's trying to be friendly. I glance past him and see an empty seat with a coat hanging on the back. Jenna must be in the bathroom or something. "So how's Taylor?"

"He's fine," I reply. That was my response last time, and when he asked me how Hayley and Jeremy were that was when everything began to go downhill. So I break the mould and ask Josh a question instead, "How's Zac?"

Josh looks a little surprised by my question, and for a second that intense look is the only thing being exchanged between us. But then his eyes flick off to the side before meeting mine again, erasing that intensity. "He's fine too."

I take a breath, gearing myself up for what has been circling my mind since that day Taylor and I spoke to Chad. "Maybe Taylor and Zac should talk," I say, not really knowing how to elaborate because it's none of my business. But in a way, it is. I can see how not talking to Zac affects Taylor, and if Taylor's upset I shouldn't let him keep going on like that. I can help without being interfering.

Josh sighs, that awkward smile still on his face. It seems to be his default expression for when things get a bit strained but he's still trying to be polite. "Yeah..." he says in agreement, also finding it hard to say anything more. "I was kinda thinking the same thing. They can't go on not talking forever."

"And you can?" I say, raising an eyebrow at him. I'm not looking for another argument again, but surely it would be stupid if Zac started talking to everyone again and Josh didn't. It would only make Josh look worse.

Josh looks me directly in the eye, that intense look making another appearance. I want to look away, to see if my brother is coming back, to see if my parents have noticed that I'm talking with someone else, but Josh's gaze is hard to break. However Josh is the one to look away as he says, "I don't know if now's the right time."

"Will it ever be the right time?" I ask him. "Hasn't it been months now?"

"Months since what?" my brother interrupts, making me jump as I didn't hear him coming. It's loud in here now, and I'm leaning forwards just to hear Josh speak. I glare up at Tom, who's evidently trying not to grin. I forgot that this was a night to annoy me.

I turn back to Josh and force myself to say politely, "Josh, this is my brother Tom, one of the people who dragged me here tonight."

Josh chuckles a little. "Hi," he says to Tom, still looking a bit awkward.

"Hey," Tom replies, taking his seat. "So weren't you in Paramore?"

I feel my eyes widen involuntarily and I quickly look away from Tom. Right now, it's impossible for Tom to be any more tactless. I glance at Josh to see that's he just staring at my brother, a look of surprise on his face.

"Urm, yeah, I was," Josh answers.

Thankfully, Mum says something to Tom from across the table, giving me a chance to turn to Josh and apologise. "Sorry," I say, grimacing. "Tom isn't exactly the most tactful person known to man."

"It's alright," Josh replies, offering me a small smile.

That's when the waitress comes round to take our orders, and Jenna comes back from the bathroom, and before I can say anything else to Josh the show is beginning. I sit through the performance, the music brushing across my ears, shovelling my food mechanically into my mouth, but all the while I'm aware of Josh seated right behind me. The tables are so close that if I merely tipped my head back I'd end up head-butting him. All the things I want to say to him revolve around my head, about Taylor and Zac and the things Josh said about Hayley. But they remain unspoken the entire night, so that when my family get up to leave I only have a few seconds to say goodbye before I'm gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen - Talk

Taylor and I are in the park near my house, the wind wheeling around us like miniature tornadoes. Thankfully, the gusts whisk away any humidity, leaving the temperature relatively pleasant. I feel as though I've been let off a lead, free from my stifling family. I do love having them here, but what with Josh and just my new life in general, it's weird when I'm forced to settle back into the 'family unit'.

"So I saw Josh. Again." Taylor is sat opposite me on the grass, beneath the shade of a tree that's dancing in the wind. His head snaps up to look at me and he stares at me intently for a second before the muscles in his face relax.

"Oh yeah? Where did you see him?"

"At a stupid dinner theatre," I reply, rolling my eyes at the thought of the place. "My brother put his foot in it and said to Josh 'so weren't you in Paramore?'."

Taylor grimaces. "Ah. Did Josh get angry again?"

"Thankfully not. We both made an effort to get off on the right foot rather than the wrong one. To be honest, I was so surprised to see him at that bloody dinner theatre that I wouldn't have been able to hold an argument."

Taylor snickers, his eyes scrunching up. "'Bloody dinner theatre'," he mimics, attempting my accent.

"Shut up," I whine, throwing a handful of grass at him. Then I feel my smile fading, and my mind returns to last night and the words Josh and I exchanged. I look up from where my fingers twine with the grass, meeting Taylor's warm eyes. He doesn't look away. "Tay," I begin.

"Yeah?" he replies, still not breaking eye contact, but he chews on his bottom lip.

"Me and Josh were saying that you and Zac should talk."

He holds my gaze for a few more seconds before looking away. His brow is furrowed a little and there's a thoughtful look in his eyes. But there's also pain too, and I feel my heart tug a little at the sight of it. I don't like to see him upset.

"Josh said that?" he asks, the lightness gone from his voice. It feels as though a dark cloud is sweeping in to settle over us, blocking out the sun.

I nod. "I don't think Josh feels ready to talk yet, but he wants you and Zac to. Wasn't he your best friend?"

Taylor sighs heavily and nods. "Yeah, he was."

"Well don't look so mopy then," I say, nudging Taylor with my foot as I try and inject some light-heartedness into this conversation. "If you were best friends once you can be best friends again, else he wasn't really a best friend to begin with."

"Alright, alright" Taylor surrenders as I shove him with my foot again. His lips are attempting to smile. "I'll talk to him, okay?"

"Okay," I agree, smiling encouragingly at him.

The wind is calming down around us, now content with just rustling the grass into a dance. Taylor meets my eyes again, a look in them that I can't name. "I have something to tell you as well," he says.

I grimace in preparation. "Am I not gonna like it?"

Taylor takes a deep breath. "Well, my family wants to meet you. How do you feel about that?"

We both look at each other for a second before erupting into awkward laughter. I tip my head into my hands and groan, "I hate meeting new people, let alone your family. I'm sure they're lovely people but... it's just so awkward, and I feel like I have to make a really good impression."

"Yeah, at least when I met your family it was impromptu, so I didn't have to spend a week thinking about it and imagining everything that could go wrong," Taylor muses, managing only to make me feel even more nervous. He sees the puppy-dog look in my eyes and sidles across the gap between us, unable to hide a smile. "Aww, it'll be fine," he adds, wrapping his arms around me.

I laugh nervously. "Ugh I hope so."

"It's not like my parents are looking for some multi-talented, model-like girl who runs a successful company or anything," Taylor says as he releases me from the hug, shifting round to sit beside me. He still has one arm around me and I lean my head against his shoulder.

"Are you saying I'm none of those things?" I tease him, pretending to be offended.

"No, of course not!" Taylor quickly backtracks. "I was just saying-"

"Tay, I'm teasing you, it's fine," I say, laughing at him and punching him playfully in the stomach.

Taylor exhales in relief. "Good."

After a short stint of silence, my head still resting on Taylor's shoulder and his arm still wrapped comfortably around me, I ask, "So when am I meeting your family then?"

"Tomorrow sound alright?" Taylor answers. "That's what my mom suggested anyway."

"Yeah sure, sounds fine," I reply calmly enough, but I can feel a slight shaking in my breathing. I wish didn't get nervous so easily.

"I'll have to ask mom about times and stuff, but when that's sorted I'll pick you up."

"And then the day after that maybe you can talk to Zac?" I suggest, looking up at him. He looks down at me and smiles, but there's a slight pull of sadness at the corners of his mouth.

"Maybe."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen – From One House To The Next

I am currently sat at the dining room table of the York's house. The sun has already gone down, it's pulsating disc slipping below the horizon less than an hour ago. Taylor is sat beside me, food balanced on the end of his fork as we glance at each other, both of us stifling smiles. I have to say that meeting Taylor's parents hasn't been bad at all. I was nervous during the drive to the house, and I squeezed the life out of Taylor's hand as he rang the doorbell; but his parents have been nothing but friendly and welcoming towards me. Not that I expected them to be evil or anything, but I always feel the pressure to be perfect because some misleading part of my sub-conscious tells me that's what they're looking for: perfection.

On the other side of the table is Taylor's Mum, Michelle, and Taylor's eldest brother Chris, who has a full head of curly hair. Taylor's Dad, Peter, sits at the head of the table next to Taylor, and at the other end of the table, on my left, is Taylor's other older brother Justin. At first I felt a little awkward being sat at the table with Taylor's entire family, but now that the food has been served and the conversation is flowing I don't feel so bad.

"I suppose it must have been a bit of a shock moving to Nashville," Taylor's Mum says to me; I'm still not used to calling her Michelle even though she told me to. She smiles at me encouragingly as she must be registering the way my hand shakes a little as I pick up my cutlery.

I swallow the food in my mouth and reply, "Yeah it was, especially because not only did I move cities but I moved countries as well. Once I started filling out all the paperwork for the visa and stuff it dawned on me what I was doing. But I'm getting into things now, settling into Nashville."

"I don't know if I'd have had the guts to do what you did at your age," Michelle answers. "Didn't you just finish university as well?"

I nod. "I'd just finished my degree at the University of London."

"Yeah I've only done high school," Taylor comments, shrugging as if to say 'well, it's not _that_ bad' as everyone laughs.

"And technically I've got _three_ qualifications as well: GCSE's, A-Levels and then finally my degree," I add in the same manner as Taylor, grinning at him as he pretends to scowl at me.

Justin pauses for a moment, his fork, loaded with food, halted in mid-air. "What exactly are A-Levels then?" he asks me.

"Well, after high school where you take your GCSE's, you can move onto sixth form where you take AS-Levels the first year and A-Levels the second year. It's kind of confusing as there are Bachelor of Science degrees as well, but most of the time you need A-Levels to get into university," I explain, suddenly feeling a bit like a nerd.

Justin grimaces. "Ugh, that is confusing."

Chris shrugs. "Still, you've got more qualifications than Taylor," he says and he grins at me.

"Is this 'pick on Taylor night'?" Taylor asks, still pretending to be more offended than he actually is, but there's a slight red tinge to his cheeks.

"Yes," Justin and Chris reply in unison and everyone laughs, Michelle rolling her eyes as she does so.

The evening progresses comfortably, and soon enough my hands stop their shaking altogether. I don't know what I was so nervous about. So as Taylor and I make to leave, and I try not to blush as his parents say how lovely it was meeting me, I feel a sense of contentedness and relief ripple through me.

On the drive back to Taylor's house, he looks at me and smiles. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No, it wasn't," I agree. Through the windscreen I can see that the night sky is entirely clear, the stars free from their usual prison of clouds.

As we step over the threshold of his house, I think about mentioning to Taylor the fact that he agreed to speak to Zac tomorrow. Or that he half agreed, but I'm interpreting that 'maybe' as a 'yes'. So as we settle down on the sofa to watch a film, Taylor having chosen one of his favourites: _Pan's Labyrinth, _I feel the thought of tomorrow playing on my mind, like a dripping tap. I want to make sure Taylor _will_ speak to Zac tomorrow, but I don't want to risk dampening the good mood he's currently in. So I decide to leave it.

The next morning I wake up on the sofa. I'm still in my dress from the night before. Taylor lies behind me, pressed against me with his arm draped over me. His breathing his deep and steady right next to my ear, his chest rising and falling against my back. We must have fallen asleep some point during the film, as the TV is still on, the blu-ray logo sliding across the screen. One part of me wants to get up and get on with the day, to force Taylor over to Zac's house. But then the other part of me wants to stay here, nestled against Taylor. I glance at the clock above the fireplace, and seeing that it's only half-seven the latter part of me wins – I'm staying here.

I must have gone back to sleep, because the next thing I know Taylor's gently shaking my shoulder. A little dazed, I squint up at him, the light from the window now streaming into the room. Taylor smiles down at me, the morning light giving him a kind of ethereal glow as my eyes struggle to adjust.

"Morning," I say, rubbing at my eyes. "When did we fall asleep?"

Taylor frowns. "I don't know."

"The last thing I remember is Ofelia running off into the labyrinth with the baby," I add.

"We must have fallen asleep towards the end then," Taylor answers, tentatively reaching out to brush my fringe from my eyes. "So what are we doing today then?"

I bite my lip. I'm going to have to remind him about talking to Zac or else I'll just keep putting it off forever, and so will he. "I was thinking," I begin, both of us shifting so that I can sit up beside him, "that maybe you'd talk to Zac today?"

There's no visible change in Taylor's expression, but his shoulders seem to drop a little, as if defeated. He sighs. "Okay," he answers, leaning forward to kiss me on the forehead, "but only if you come with me."

I nod. "Of course I will."

So it's decided: we're going over to Zac's.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen - Ripple

"I can't. I can't do it."

I stare at Taylor, eyes wide with disbelief. "But Taylor, we've come all this way, you can't just leave now!" I reason. "What's the worst that could happen? I don't think he's about to beat you up, not unless you throw the first punch."

"I'm not gonna punch him."

"Well, there you go then, nothing to worry about."

So far, Taylor hasn't even got out of the car. It seems we've driven all this way just to sit outside Zac's house, watching the windows like Zac's a poltergeist.

Taylor is biting his lip anxiously as he stares at the building. I reach out and intertwine my fingers with his, and he looks back at me and smiles, but the pain is still in his eyes. I think now, since Josh and Zac left, Taylor isn't so much hurting because of their departure, he's hurting because of what might happen when he tries to make it up with them. I think he fears that Zac will shout him down and all hope of reconciliation will be gone.

Then my phone rings.

"Oh bloody hell," I grumble, while Taylor just jumps at the sudden sound. I scrabble inside my bag and pull out my phone, not even looking at the screen as I answer it; I know who's phoning.

"Mum, I'm kind of busy right now," I say in the sweetest tone I can muster, but I grimace in preparation for the retort.

"Callie, we've come all this way to Nashville only for you to go gallivanting off who knows where," Mum snaps back. I can hear Dad and Tom talking in the background.

"I spent three days with you lot," I reply, trying not to sound argumentative. "I know I was only meant to spend one day with Taylor, but then his family invited me to their house and now we're having a bit of a crisis. But I promise I'll spend the last few days of your trip with you."

"Crisis? What crisis?" Oh great, she's honed in on the gossip already.

"Nothing important. I have to go now sorry, bye Mum, see you lot tomorrow," I finish, and I hurriedly end the call.

Taylor smiles at me, a little bit of the pain in his eyes making way for amusement. "Your mom somehow knows when it's the wrong time to call, and that's when she calls."

"Ugh, tell me about it," I answer, rolling my eyes. "Now, I've braved talking to my Mum, so are you going to talk to Zac?"

Taylor returns to chewing on his bottom lip. He glances at the house. "I don't think anyone's in..." he begins feebly.

"No, I'm not having that, go and knock on the door, I'll be right behind you," I interrupt forcefully, pushing him into the car door so that he's forced to open it.

"Alright, alright," he says, laughing a little, but I think that's more to cover his own nervousness. He gets out of the car and waits for me to do the same. I hurry round the car and follow Taylor up the little path to the house. He steps onto the welcome mat and rings the doorbell, then reaches his hand behind him, fingers splayed out. I take his waiting hand, giving it a little squeeze of encouragement.

At first, nothing seems to happen, not even a hint of movement from within the house. Taylor glances behind him, still biting his lip, and looks at me with worry on his face. I smile sympathetically at him; waiting can be the hardest part.

Then, behind the frosted glass of the door, there's a ripple of movement and I hold my breath. I feel like a bit of a spare part just stood here, but I'm here for Taylor so I'm staying. The door opens to reveal Zac standing there.

"Taylor, hey," he says, a look of shock on his face, but there's no venom in his voice. I release the breath I've been holding, but then Zac's eyes flick to me so I end up smiling a little awkwardly, air still trapped in my lungs.

"Hey Zac," Taylor replies, trying to inject some friendliness into his voice but the anxiety is still there. Then Taylor gestures behind him at me and says, "Uh, this is Callie."

"Um, hi," I say to Zac, not really knowing where to look or how to act, so I keep it normal and friendly.

"Hi," Zac replies, looking a bit awkward himself. But then he redirects his attention back to Taylor. "So Taylor... what are you doing here?"

Taylor shifts his weight uncomfortably. "Um, I figured it was time we talked."

Should he mention that Josh figured that too? I don't want to butt in and be like 'oh yeah, Josh thought you should talk too' because it's not really any of my business. However, what I'm getting at is would that snippet of information make any difference? Would it make Zac more inclined to talk with Taylor if he knew that Josh had okayed it?

So then I make up my mind, about what _I_ have to do. Because this isn't my business, it's strictly between Taylor and Zac. "You know what, Tay? I'm gonna go sit in the car and leave you guys to talk," I say, already backing away.

Taylor looks at me, a fleeting expression of panic on his face, but then he quickly calms himself and releases my hand. "Okay, see you in a bit," he answers, getting out his car keys and unlocking the car.

And with that, I leave Taylor to disappear inside Zac's house.

It's not much fun waiting in the car with only my thoughts for company, because my imagination runs away with me and starts playing out scenes of what could be happening in that house. Zac beating up Taylor, Taylor beating up Zac, a huge argument, a really awkward conversation, the two of them eating cereal. I can only think of the worst or the best possibilities, not the normalcy in between.

Then suddenly, movement catches my eye and I jerk my head to see the door to Zac's house opening. Taylor steps out, then turns back to say something to Zac, who's waiting in the doorway. I can't see their expressions, so I have no idea if the words they're exchanging are nasty or nice. Finally, Zac shuts the door and Taylor heads down the path.

As Taylor gets in the car, I expect a sudden outburst of 'it went great!' or 'I hate Zac!'. Yet neither of those come and as Taylor puts the key in the ignition and the car roars to life I'm left waiting expectantly for an explanation.

"So, are you two best of friends again or what?" I ask.

Taylor sits back in his seat, seemingly mulling over an answer. "It was... awkward," he replies eventually, sounding a bit deflated. "Neither of us really knew what to say so we ended up skirting round the real problem."

"Nothing's fixed?"

Taylor shakes his head. "Nothing's fixed, Callie. I think you and Josh were hoping for too much."

All of a sudden, I feel some kind of anger flare up inside me, like someone's just lit an internal fuse and I'm now waiting for it to burn up and explode. The anger I feel isn't for Taylor, it's for Josh. I need to speak with him. He's the source of this problem, he can fix it.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen – Denial

Taylor drops me home and he heads off to talk with Hayley and Jeremy, leaving me alone with my boiling anger in a silent house. I stand in the hallway, clutching my blackberry with white knuckles. If I squeezed it any harder the plastic casing would crack and I'm sure my anger would shatter with it. But I'm going to channel that anger into something else.

I stomp into the living room and snatch my laptop from the coffee table. My leg twitches impatiently as I wait for it to boot up, but when it does so I hurriedly open the internet and type in the web address for twitter. Once I'm logged in, I know where I'm going. Straight away I send a Direct Message to Josh and it reads: 'We need to talk'. Now all I have to do is wait.

Luckily, I'm only waiting about ten minutes before Josh replies. I'm no longer nervous of how I speak to him, and I'm not nervous of how he will reply. I'm past the awkward hello's when we bump into each other; now is the time to talk properly.

Josh's reply reads: 'What? Why? What's happened now?'. I can almost see the confused look he must have on his face, but I don't care. Yet just when I go to smash the keyboard again in my reply, Josh beats me to it by saying: 'Well I'm at Starbucks right now if you want to talk. You don't exactly sound too happy so maybe we should talk face to face...'.

My fingers hover over the keyboard, itching to type but I don't know what. I didn't expect to meet Josh, and suddenly I'm more self-conscious about biting his head off. Arguing with Josh in Starbucks? Been there, done that. Maybe if I just sit down with a hot chocolate and tell Josh exactly what's going on in my head then I might feel better.

So I type my answer, telling him: 'yeah, maybe that would be better. I'll be there in ten'. And as I do so, I feel some of my anger drain out of me, the titanic weight on my chest lifted ever so slightly. I've never been good at staying angry for long; I can't even keep my anger for Josh burning, the embers shrivelling to black.

I shut the laptop lid, grab my car keys and in under a minute I'm driving down my street. I know now what I want to say to Josh, but I have a feeling I'm going to get there and be lost for words. I just want to tell him that he needs to sort things out, with Taylor and Jeremy and especially Hayley. I'm sick of feeling like I have to tiptoe round the subject, and tiptoe round Josh himself. And I'm sick of seeing the sadness in Taylor's eyes.

Soon enough, I arrive at Starbucks and park my car. As I open the door, I half expect to see that fat guy at the end of the line again, waiting to back into me so that I, in turn, can back into Josh. But as I step inside, a sheepishly waving hand catches my eye and I turn to see Josh seated at a little table. The awkward smile is still there and I feel like slapping it off his face, but I bite back the sudden surge of anger; I'm going to talk this through calmly with him.

As I meander over to Josh's little table and take my seat, Josh slides a to-go cup across the table towards me. He pulls his hand back slowly, his long fingers lingering behind the cup, ready to catch it, like he expects me to smack it from the table.

"I got you a hot chocolate, I thought it might be a safe bet," Josh says, sounding friendly enough. The words ring in my ears with familiarity and my mind digs up a fleeting memory of the guitar shop, when Taylor's first words to me were 'the Gibson Les Paul is a safe choice'. It's funny how one word like 'safe' can remind you of another time gone by. Except I feel safe with Taylor. Do I feel safe with Josh? I brush my musings aside and return to the real world.

"Thanks," I reply, wrapping my fingers around the warm cup.

Josh shifts in his seat. "So what did you want to talk about? You didn't exactly sound too happy when you sent me that message," Josh says, laughing a little.

A short laugh escapes from my mouth, obliterating more of my earlier anger. "What gave it away?"

"The lack of a smiley face," Josh clarifies, his awkward smile making way for a genuine one.

I shrug and take a sip of my drink. "Well, I wasn't in the best of moods when I sent you that message."

Josh frowns, concern crossing his face, but it's gone all too soon. "Why? What's happened?"

"Taylor went to see Zac today," I answer, and as I do so Josh meets my eyes for the first time. There's a mixture of surprise and intrigue there, but I don't know why he's surprised when he suggested they should talk.

He clears his throat, dropping my gaze for a second before meeting my eyes again, this time with a slight frown. "And how did that go?"

I sigh and sit back in my seat. "I wasn't there for the talk, but Taylor said it was awkward. Nothing's fixed."

"Well I didn't expect anything to be fixed," Josh says nonchalantly and I feel a flare of anger in the pit of my stomach.

"But don't you want it to be fixed?" I enquire impatiently, frowning myself.

Josh pauses before he answers, meeting my eyes again but now there's a look there that I can't place. "Yeah, I do. I want this to be fixed."

I give Josh a funny look. "Really? 'Cause you don't seem to be doing a lot to get things sorted out."

"And how would you know?" Josh snaps, and I can feel this 'conversation' taking the same turn as it did weeks ago.

I roll my eyes, letting my anger simmer before it can erupt again. "It seems to me that you and Zac have just completely cut yourselves off from the others. I don't really call that making an effort to clear things up."

"They've cut themselves off from us too."

"They weren't the ones who left," I retort. The bitterness on Josh's face falters; my point has won. "If you were really ever friends with them, if you ever valued them as friends, then you'd sort things out," I continue. "You were in a band with them; you wouldn't have entered that situation if you had doubts about Hayley or you weren't too keen on anyone, because you wouldn't have known how things would turn out for Paramore, so why bother putting yourself through drama when the band could just flop? You had to have liked Hayley and Jeremy and the band as a whole. You wouldn't enter a band if you didn't have faith in it, in the people involved with it."

I feel like I've finally voiced something I've been waiting to say for a while now. Opposite me, Josh squirms uncomfortably in his seat. It looks as though he knows what I said was true, so surely he can't continue to deny it? Maybe hearing an outside perspective has opened his eyes a little.

Josh opens his mouth to speak, but then, to my surprise, he simply shakes his head, grabs his coffee and walks away. I spin in my seat, glaring at him as he walks off, running a hand through his short brown hair. I go to shout after him, but looking around at how busy Starbucks is I think better of it and head after him instead, the grip on my to-go cup a little too strong.

"Josh!" I shout once I'm out the door, but he ignores me and continues to stomp across the car park like a sulking child.

"Josh!" I call again, and this time he whirls around and glares at me.

"What?" he growls. I hesitate when I see the heat in his eyes, the seething anger, and I stop with a couple of metres stretching between us.

Then, suddenly, I decide I'm not going to argue with him any longer. I'm not going to grovel or try to reason with him. I came here to talk things through calmly and civilly, but if he's just going to get pissy with me then he doesn't deserve my time or my help.

I close the gap between us, and as I walk past him I say with a hard edge to my voice, "I was trying to help, Josh."

As I head for my car, Josh calls after me, "Oh yeah? Well maybe I don't need your help!"

I shake my head as I unlock my car, scoffing at him. If that's how he wants to be then that's fine by me.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen – Truth and Lies

I drive home - probably breaking the speed limit but I'm too annoyed to care - expecting to return to an empty house that I can scream to. Instead, my family are back from wherever they buggered off too, and as I smash through the door and see them sat in the living room I have to quickly wipe the frown from my face.

"Trying to take the door off its hinges?" my Dad enquires sarcastically. I'm really not in the mood for jokes, but I bite back a retort. I haven't told my family what's going on with Josh and stuff yet and I don't plan on doing so any time soon.

I just smile at Dad, not risking opening my mouth to reply in case whatever I say comes out too sharp and bitter.

"So where have you been?" Mum asks while I continue to loiter in the doorway, twitching because I want to phone Taylor.

"Just went to Starbucks," I answer, which technically isn't a lie.

"Where's Taylor?" Mum continues with the questions.

_I'd quite like him to be talking to me on the phone but so far I'm being delayed by you._ I don't say that out loud though; I wouldn't dare. Not only would I get a scolding like I'm seven, it would also give Mum reason to believe that something is wrong.

"Oh, I was just about to phone him," I reply sweetly, putting on my best innocent face.

"Okay, be quick, we've got plans," Mum says, smiling at me so that I have to force a smile in answer.

I rush upstairs, slam my door behind me and collapse onto my bed, already dialling Taylor's number. He picks up on the third ring.

"Hey Cal."

"Hi Tay."

"...What's up?" Taylor asks, sceptic about my forced casualness.

I sigh heavily. "Josh. Again."

"What's he done this time?" There's a slightly bitter edge to Taylor's voice, something I haven't really heard before and it unnerves me a little; I don't want to ignite an argument between Taylor and Josh.

"I tried to talk to him civilly but, as you can probably guess, it didn't quite end civilly," I explain. "He just doesn't want to know. Why doesn't he want to sort this out? He wants you and Zac to be friends but he doesn't want to repair his own friendships? I don't get it, it doesn't make any sense. How can he be so awkward?"

Taylor sighs too. "I don't know. He's always been awkward in arguments. I don't think he likes to admit when he's wrong."

Suddenly, Hayley's voice drifts through the phone instead. "He was the same when Jeremy told us he was leaving, back when we were making All We Know Is Falling. Josh just got really annoyed and stormed off. He's wonderful at holding grudges."

"Oh I remember that," I hear Jeremy mutter in the background.

"Well," I say, "it seems he has a grudge he can't let go."

Hayley pauses. "Give him time," she replies softly, a sombre tone to her voice, "he'll come round."

"The point is though, Hayley," Jeremy interrupts, "he's had time. He's had months."

"Maybe you guys should talk to him," I suggest, "instead of me. Maybe it would do him some good to confront this head on, rather than skirting round it. Because that's all he does when I try and talk to him. He starts off fine, friendly in fact, then as soon as I start to bring stuff up he gets angry."

"We need to bring out the big guns," Taylor says, sounding more like he's being amusing than helpful.

"I don't know..." Hayley says. "It might just make things worse."

"Could things get any worse?" Jeremy says. His laughter has a bitter feel to it.

"Yeah," Hayley agrees, her laughing half-hearted. She sighs. "I don't know, Callie. Give us some time to think about. I'll get back to you. For now, just let Josh cool down."

"Okay," I reply. "See you soon."

"See you soon Cal," Hayley answers.

"Bye Callie!" Jeremy calls from the background, sounding a bit more like his chirpy self.

There's a sound like movement on the end of the line, then Taylor's voice. "Want me to come round later?"

"I don't know if you can. I think my parents have something planned," I say, regretting having to; all I want is Taylor right now.

"Tomorrow?" He sounds a bit disappointed.

"Yeah, tomorrow."

He takes a deep breath. "Bye Callie... I love you."

I go to say it back, almost automatically, when I realise that it's the first time Taylor's ever told me he loves me. A smile cracks on my face as a warm feeling spreads through me. He may have said it over the phone, but I don't mind, because I don't think he's had the guts to say it to my face yet.

"I love you too Taylor," I reply, and I can hear the smile in my voice.

"Bye," Taylor says again, and I can hear the smile in his voice too.

"Bye Tay."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty – Mission Impossible

After the phone call, I was subjected to another family outing. I guess that it would have been fun if I hadn't been a turmoil of emotions – a mixture of elation and anger. Two people were fighting for dominance of my emotions, so that it was like having an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Taylor was my happiness and Josh was my anger.

Today, however, I've been let off the leash again and Hayley phoned me asking if I'd like to do something normal to take my mind off things. So, only half an hour later, Hayley, Jeremy and Taylor turn up at my door with smiles on their faces and inform me that we're going to the mall. And now I want to buy everything.

We're in Macy's, and upon entering the huge department store I had a sudden pang of home sickness, as Macy's is a lot like Selfridge's in London. But now, with me and Hayley linking arms as we raid the racks, and Taylor and Jeremy following in our wake as they put all manner of clothing on their heads like hyper children, I feel a lot better than I have in a while.

"Ooh, this is cute," Hayley says, holding up a summery dress. For a second I think it's a little out-of-character for Hayley, then I notice that the centre of the flowers are actually little skulls, the pastel petals framing the white.

"Yeah it is," I reply, trying not to laugh at Taylor and Jeremy practically bhangra dancing next to me with hats on their heads and pink clothes draped over them. "It looks like you're really awful shop lifters," I tell them.

"Ssh!" Taylor hisses at me, surveying the shop floor. "You'll give us away."

"I think you've already done that yourselves," Hayley retorts, laughing at them.

With over-the-top shamefulness, Taylor and Jeremy remove the articles of clothing and return them to their rightful places. We continue walking through the store, Taylor wrapping his arms round my waist. He picks me up and swings me around, and I can hear our laughter echoing across this floor of the store. Then, suddenly, almost as soon as my feet find the ground again, Taylor drags me to the floor.

"Tay-" I begin, but then I notice he's not laughing any more. "What is it?" I ask him, a smile still on my face; I'm not letting my happiness be erased that easily.

Noticing our absence, Hayley and Jeremy turn around.

"What are you doing?" Jeremy asks.

"Josh, Zac and Jenna!" Taylor whisper-shouts, nodding his head to the right, careful not to head-butt me. "Over there!"

Jeremy and Hayley both look in the direction that Taylor nodded towards, and almost immediately they collapse to the ground with us, Jeremy falling to the floor like he's been shot. Because, sure enough, there's Josh, Zac and Jenna, just perusing the clothes, coming our way. I wince at the bang Jeremy makes as he falls on his back, but the Farro's don't seem to notice.

"Anyone else feel like they're stalking us?" I enquire, thinking back to the couple of times I've ran into Josh.

"It's beginning to feel like it," Taylor replies.

"What do we do?" Hayley whispers. "Today was supposed to be a day to forget about them."

"Well I'm not about to let them ruin it," Jeremy says, still splayed out like a star.

It's silent for a second as we all look at each other. Then, simultaneously, like the same thought has been planted in our minds, a determined smile cracks on each of our faces.

Taylor unwraps his arms from my waist and moves beside me to take my hand instead. "Okay, on three," he begins quietly, "one, two, three!"

With that, we speed-walk away, bent over in a crouch, all four of us trying desperately to stifle our laughter as we check behind us. The Farro's are still heading this way. We take refuge behind a display of mannequins, only for Taylor to knock into one. It teeters a bit, and we all reach out our hands as though we have telekinesis powers to hold it in place. Luckily, it doesn't topple over.

"We should go down a floor," Hayley suggests and everyone nods in mock seriousness, like this is a life or death situation. It reminds me of an episode of _Father Ted -_ a comedy series about priests from the 90's that's set in Ireland – where the priests are stuck in a seemingly never-ending section of lingerie in a department store. The thought of it makes me laugh out loud, and everyone glares at me.

"Sorry," I say, quelling my laughter.

The Farro's are closing the gap between us, but they still haven't noticed us just chilling by some mannequins.

Then I realise something. "The escalator going down is on the other side. They've only got the one to the next floor up on this side, and we can't get past the Farro's without being seen," I explain.

Jeremy looks at each of us in turn and says with mock determination, "We're going to have to go up a floor."

We all look at the gap between us and the escalator, completely devoid of any kind of cover. Except for a noisy group of thirteen year old's. It's the best cover we have, so we dart behind them and get thrown some funny looks, to which we just grin back. We hurry onto the escalator, almost falling over the steps in our haste.

Hayley pretends to wipe sweat from her brow. "We'll just have to wait on this floor till we can get downstairs and out of the building."

Just as we step off the escalator, I glance behind us to see the Farro's getting on it. I push a dawdling Taylor round the corner and into the aisle upon aisle of men's clothes.

"Do you think they'd notice me if I pretended to be a mannequin?" Jeremy asks, striking a pose next to one of the displays just as the Farro's appear at the top of the escalator. Hayley, trying not to laugh too loudly, drags Jeremy out of sight.

We crouch down again and peer over a shelf of neatly folded jumpers. The Farro's are talking and wandering in our direction, still seemingly oblivious to us. And to Taylor's dancing. His head is bobbing and swishing to a beat that none of us can hear when, suddenly, Josh's head snaps our way. We quickly duck out of sight, and when Hayley looks over the display again she whispers to us that the coast is clear; the Farro's are moving away. As quietly as we can, we speed walk in a curve away from the Farro's and towards the downwards escalator. We're almost at the escalator when Taylor, not looking where he's going, walks straight into a large woman with her arms full of Macy's shopping bags.

"Oh sorry," Taylor says, reaching down to help the woman gather up her purchases.

"You really should look where you're going, young man," the woman reprimands him, glaring at Taylor like he's her misbehaving son.

Taylor goes red, looking embarrassed, and apologises again. I have to turn my head away so that the woman can't see me trying not to laugh. I'll start getting cramps if I laugh any more today.

The woman snatches the bags from Taylor and stomps away. I elbow him playfully and take his hand, dragging him down the escalator after Hayley and Jeremy.

"Well that was a bit of a kerfuffle," I say loudly.

"It was a kerfuffle," Taylor replies, nodding enthusiastically, and we both laugh.

We ride another escalator down to the ground floor, stepping into the colourful land of make-up and perfume that Hayley got distracted by on her way into Macy's. We had managed to keep her away from MAC cosmetics, but now she's honed in on the stand like a bee to a flower and heads straight for it.

"Hayley, we're meant to be getting out of here," Taylor whines as we chase after her.

"I just want to look at the eyeshadows!" Hayley calls back, practically skipping like an excitable child.

"I'd like to get home for Christmas, Hayles," Jeremy says, but Hayley just ignores him as she browses the eyeshadows with a look of utter concentration on her face.

We must be loitering for about five minutes when, just audible amidst the hubbub of the store, a familiar sound makes me instinctively turn my head. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the crowd seems to make a gap so that the Farro's become visible. It's like there's a corridor between them and us, a perfect line of vision, and I quickly turn my face away from them.

"The Farro's are behind us," I whisper. One glance at them is all it takes before Hayley is burying her face in the eyeshadows, Jeremy is hanging around behind a crowd of women at the perfume counter just next to us, and Taylor and I are pretending to look really interested in the nail polishes.

I glance at Hayley and see she's curling her lips inwards in an attempt to stop herself from laughing. "Hayley," I whisper-shout at her, trying not to laugh as well, "your hair's too bright!"

Hayley wraps her arms round her head like she's pretending to lie down while standing up.

"It's like a beacon," Taylor says.

"Just calling them to us," Jeremy adds, his laughter stopping abruptly as a lady at the perfume counter frowns at him.

"Would you like to try some perfume, for your girlfriend perhaps?" a pushy young sales assistant says to Jeremy, offering him a bottle of perfume. I don't know whether she's just making the assumption that Jeremy has a girlfriend, or if she thinks that Hayley might be his girlfriend.

"Oh no, I'm fine thanks," Jeremy answers.

"Are you sure? It's in the sale this week," the sales assistant goes on, but before Jeremy can protest again Hayley jumps up.

"I'll try it!" she says, rushing over to Jeremy, and Taylor quickly pulls me after her. We stand in a huddle round this one perfume bottle, crowded in the sales assistant's personal space but she can't protest now as she has four potential customers.

I glance past the counter and see that the Farro's are now heading away from us, towards the back of the store. Hayley, noticing this too, hurriedly tries the perfume, spraying it onto her wrists and rubbing it in. "Oh you know what? I don't think it's for me," she says, giving it a quick sniff.

"No, it doesn't really smell like you," Taylor adds, Jeremy nodding in serious agreement.

"Thanks anyway," Hayley says to the sales assistant, quickly handing the perfume bottle back as we make our break for freedom.

Once we're outside, the adrenaline of our Mission Impossible begins to die down. The warm breeze laps at us, and soon the Farro's feel far behind.

"Was that a bit childish of us?" Hayley asks, a slight frown on her face.

Everyone ponders the question for a second, the last dregs of adrenaline leaving our bloodstreams. Jeremy shrugs. "Probably, but they didn't see us, so what does it matter? We can't let the thought or sight of them dampen how we feel, so in the end running around the store like-"

"James Bond," I offer when Jeremy struggles to think of a suitable simile.

"-like James Bond was better than feeling bad for the rest of the day because we had an awkward conversation, or an argument or something. They seem to be getting on just fine without us, so why can't we?" Jeremy finishes.

"You're right Jerm," Hayley says, giving Jeremy a quick hug as we walk, away from Macy's and our problems.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-one – Biting Words

It's muggy today, and my clothes feel like they're sticking to me in the heat. It makes me uncomfortable especially because this stupid shop has no air-conditioning. Last time I checked this wasn't the 1800's. And what's more, I can feel two eyes burning holes into the back of my head, like someone's drilling through my skull with a red-hot poker. This girl has been staring at me for five minutes now. Here I am, just casually browsing the make-up, and this girl stops a few metres away just so that she can gawk at me. I only wanted to get in and out. I was going to grab some new make-up and toiletries to stock up on for tomorrow. It's the Fueled By Ramen 15th Anniversary show in two days, and Paramore are playing. Summer and I were going to watch the show online, having a rave from the comfort of my sofa, but then Taylor broke the news that he'd got Summer and I plane tickets to New York, coupled with backstage passes to the show. I've never been to New York before, only California on holiday once, so I can already imagine my head spinning at all the stimuli – the shops, the lights and the show.

Speaking of head's spinning, I turn mine to glance at the girl. I have to quickly clear my face of a startled expression because suddenly she's just a couple of feet from me. It's like being in a horror film or something. I look back to the make-up, hurriedly grabbing the eyeliner I was looking at, but before I can make my escape the girl speaks.

"Are you Taylor York's girlfriend?" the girl asks innocently enough, as though this is a perfectly normal question to ask a stranger.

I look at her blankly for a second, wondering how she even knows this, before replying in an even tone, "Yeah, I am."

I suppose now you'd expect fangirling. Maybe she's a huge Paramore fan and has somehow found out about me and Taylor. As far as I know, no one knows about us except for our immediate family and friends. However, the girl does the unexpected. In one venomous motion, she looks me up and down as though I'm a tramp who's accosted her in the street, then, with a disgusted look, she laughs at me.

The words are tumbling out of my mouth before I can stop myself, automatic defence. I return the girls look with a sickly sweet smile, and in a sarcastic voice I reply, "Yeah, because I laugh like a bitch at people I don't know." And with that I storm off to the checkout, buy my make-up and stomp out of the shop.

In under an hour I'm over at Hayley's house, the two of us sat on the sofa in her basement, cradling cups of coffee in our hands. I've explained the situation to Hayley, having not calmed down enough to regret my biting retort. Hayley is frowning at me, mulling over the story I recounted.

"What did the girl look like?" Hayley asks, taking a sip from her steaming mug.

"Urm, she had long brown hair, it was slightly wavy... um, an oval face? I don't know, she just looked like your typical teenage girl," I answer.

Hayley continues to frown until something registers on her face, like the last pieces of a puzzle have just been put into place. "I know exactly who that was," she says, giving me a 'here we go again' look.

"Who?"

"Isabelle Farro, Josh and Zac's little sister."

I stare at Hayley in disbelief for a second, then I can't help myself – I burst out laughing. "What? Are you serious? Who told her?"

"I guess Josh did," Hayley says, unable to stop herself from laughing with me.

"Like how old is she?"

"Fourteen I think."

I laugh even harder. "And she had the nerve to come up to me and give me such a disgusted look?"

"She probably thinks big brother Josh will protect her," Hayley jokes.

My laughter dies away, replacing my amusement with curiosity. "Wait a second," I mumble, whipping out my blackberry. I log onto twitter and check my followers, and sure enough I find exactly what I was looking for. I show the screen to Hayley. "Exactly as I thought, she followed me on twitter a few weeks ago. She must know what I look like from my profile picture." I check Isabelle's twitter profile picture and see that it's definitely the girl from the shop.

Hayley takes a gulp of her coffee and says, "Forget about her anyway, she's just an-"

"Immature little girl," I interrupt, not regretting the insult, not even regretting the fact that I practically called her a bitch to her face. She was acting like one after all. There was no need for her to be like that.

"-exactly, and we have more important things to think about, like the Fueled By Ramen show. Have you packed?" Hayley continues.

"I'm ready and raring to go. I just have to pack my toiletries," I reply, grinning at the prospect of the next few days. Tomorrow we catch a plane to New York, first class, and the day afterwards is the show.

"Well I'm glad your set, I still have a whole suitcase to pack," Hayley replies, grimacing at me before she takes another sip of her coffee. She eyes me over the rim of her mug.

I grin knowingly at her. "Would you like some help with your packing?"

She grins back at me. "Aww, thanks so much for offering Callie, you shouldn't have," Hayley answers, already putting her cup on the coffee table and heading for the stairs.

I roll my eyes and follow her, but with each step a sinking feeling in my stomach grows. I can't place what it's about, but immediately one name comes to mind – Josh. Is there going to be backlash from what happened today? Have I only made things worse?


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-two - Travel

Taylor has barely finished knocking on my door when I fling it open, a slightly demented grin on my face. He laughs and returns my grin. Today we're going to New York.

"Excited?" Taylor asks jokingly.

"No, not at all," I reply through gritted teeth, purposefully keeping my grin in place. Taylor just laughs again, wrapping his arms around my waist as he picks me up and carries me over to my waiting bags. He puts me down and I plant a kiss on his cheek, almost missing the faint pink like rosewater that washes across his cheeks.

Taylor grabs the handle of my suitcase and picks it up. His top is sleeveless so I clearly see his muscles straining under the weight of my suitcase. He throws me a look of surprise.

"You're lighter than your suitcase!" he exclaims, dropping my suitcase with a thunk. He pulls out the long handle and begins to wheel it to the front door.

"Weakling," I tease him.

Taylor gasps in mock offence and lets go of the suitcase for a second to proudly display his biceps. I poke the nearest arm, the hard muscle unyielding. "Take that back," Taylor says, a look of expectancy on his face.

I roll my eyes. "Okay, you're not a weakling."

Taylor nods and wheels the suitcase out the door, calling back to me, "I'm glad we got that cleared up!"

I grab my hand luggage, quickly unzipping it to check that I at least have the essentials – phone, purse, duct tape so that I can gag Summer if she gets too talkative. I cross the threshold of my house, locking the door behind me. I'm only halfway down the porch steps when Taylor hurries back from the car, having put my suitcase away.

"Milady," he says, trying to hide a smile as he takes my bag from me.

"It's only an oversized handbag, not a duffel bag," I protest, but in truth I like the protectiveness. I always have, being quite demonstrative, although I don't like it when the guy gets clingy. Taylor has the perfect balance between laid-back and protective.

"Your carriage awaits," Taylor proclaims, gesturing at his car.

"Where are the horses?" I ask as Taylor opens the door for me. He stops mid-bow and feigns annoyance.

"Darn! I knew I'd forgotten something!" he says, shaking his head.

"Oh well, I think the carriage has an engine so we should be alright," I continue, grinning at Taylor.

"Good back-up plan," Taylor answers, shutting the car door once I'm inside before jogging round the front and getting in the driver's side. "All set?" he asks.

"Yep."

Taylor starts the engine and pulls away from the kerb. "Next stop: Summer's house."

It's only a short drive to Summer's house, and when we arrive she's ready and waiting, sat atop her fluorescent pink luggage on the pavement, large sunglasses concealing her baby blue eyes. Her blonde ringlets frame her face like curls of gold.

"I can't tell if that's Summer or not," Taylor jokes as he pulls up next to her.

"You know what? I'm really not sure either," I reply and Taylor and I share a grin.

"Hey guys!" Summer calls as Taylor opens his door and gets out to help Summer with her luggage. "This is so exciting," she adds as she hops into the back seat, her short, floral dress rippling in the breeze.

"You're not going to flash anyone if the wind picks up, are you?" I quip, gesturing at her dress.

"I'll try not to," she answers, pushing down her sunglasses to wink at me.

Taylor slams the boot shut and gets back in the car. "Summer's suitcase is even heavier than yours," he comments, slightly out-of-breath. "We're only going for a few days, why do you girls need so many clothes?"

"I need an outfit for every potential situation," Summer simply replies. We both shake our heads at Taylor and tut as though he's stupid for not understanding that. Taylor, stifling a smile, drives away.

After parking the car at the airport, we meet up with Hayley, Jeremy and a bunch of other people going to New York with us for the show. I recognise Justin amidst the small crowd and we share a 'hello' and a hug. Summer seems undaunted by all the new people, however I feel a little out of place. I want to hang onto Taylor's hand for comfort as he says 'hi' and chats with everyone else, but at the same time I want to let go so that I don't feel like a spare part just latching onto him. But he makes no move to let go of my hand, nor does he show that it's awkward in any way, and instead introduces me to everyone I haven't met.

Once inside the building proper there's no need to check in as someone – presumably the manager or the tour operator or whatever, I don't really have a clue – checked us all in online before we arrived. All we have to do is hand over our luggage to the crew and all the boxes and suitcases get sorted out. We don't see that bit though as we're all dragged into the fast-track lane for security. Taylor goes ahead of me and gets stopped because of his belt. Hayley shakes her head at me and rolls her eyes. We both laugh, at Taylor's expense.

"You okay?" Hayley asks as we sort out our hand luggage, waiting for Taylor to free up the metal detector.

"I'm pretty excited," I reply. "Not only do I get to go to New York, I get a backstage pass to a gig _and_ I get to meet Paramore!"

Hayley gasps, grinning at the same time. "Wow, really? Oh my gosh I'm so jealous. I'd love to meet Paramore, I hear the lead singer is really cute."

"I've heard the bassist is better looking," Jeremy chips in, as he dumps his shoes into a tray.

"No, the guitarist!" Taylor calls back as he finally passes through the metal detector without trouble.

"I think I'd have to agree with Taylor: the guitarist is the cutest," I finish and Taylor grins at me from the other side of the metal detector.

I grin back and push my tray along the conveyor belt, heading for the metal detector. I walk through, always expecting sirens and alarms to sound, followed by me being wrestled to the ground as I plead that I haven't done anything wrong. Of course, nothing happens, it's just a silly fear.

I retrieve my bits and pieces from my tray as it emerges from the other end of the conveyor belt. Taylor is hopping about on one foot, trying to put his shoes on.

"Why don't you just take a seat?" I suggest, laughing at him.

"Oh yeah," he says, only just noticing the free seat a couple of metres from him. The one next to him becomes vacant and I sit down beside Taylor to sort out my bag and shoes.

Once we all pass through security we head for the lounge. Dad used to travel a lot for work, so whenever we went on holiday as a family we'd have access to the lounges. I was a bit spoilt on that front, but honestly it was more fun browsing the duty free shops than it was lounging on a sofa eating food when I wasn't even hungry. So once we're settled in the lounge I suggest that we go peruse the shops and that's exactly what we do – Taylor, Hayley, Jeremy, Summer, Justin, Jon, me and a bunch of others. Hayley, Summer and I spend ages trying on all the sunglasses and hats in one of the shops before our eyes get drawn to the huge beauty section of the duty free. We kill time testing out all the perfumes and cosmetics.

While browsing the Lacoste perfume, Hayley says, "I like this; today, I mean. It seems a lot more relaxed after all the touring we've been doing for so long. Don't get me wrong, I love touring, but today it's quite nice to turn up at the airport and look at the duty-free knowing that we have an amazing show to play before slipping home again. I get home-sick sometimes while we're on tour; it's nice to know that my bed's waiting for me to return to it in a couple of days."

"Yeah, I guess it'll be nice to sit down and write an album for a while rather than waking up everyday in a new country," I reply.

Hayley nods. "Exactly. A few months of relaxing and before we know it the album will be finished... hopefully... if I can get out of bed." She laughs. "Then touring can commence and the fun can begin again."

An hour or two later we head to the gate and not long after that we board the plane. Taylor made sure that I got the seat next to him and, pleased, I stretch out into my leg room. Halfway into the flight we hit a patch of turbulence and instinctively I fling my arm out to grab the armrest. Instead of my hand meeting hard plastic, I hit Taylor's hand instead, warm with calloused fingertips, and he threads his fingers through mine, giving my hand an extra squeeze. Then the turbulence passes and Taylor gives me a reassuring smile, but for the rest of the flight he doesn't let go of my hand, and I don't let go of his.

And then, suddenly, we find ourselves landing in New York.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-three - Bittersweet

"So, what are we doing today?" I ask as I drop onto the edge of the bed, the springs of the mattress yielding under my weight. I bounce a little, brimming with anticipation for the rest of the day.

"Well, what do you wanna do? It's your first time in New York, after all," Taylor replies, dropping our suitcases in the corner.

I shrug. "What is there to do in New York?" I wince inwardly, suddenly realising how innocent that sounded.

Taylor laughs. "Now that's a _big_ question."

I laugh at myself. "Okay, so you don't have to answer that question." I glance around the room, at the plush furniture, the array of cushions, the glass-top desk, the chaise, the thick, patterned curtains. "I should have bought a guide book," I mumble to no one in particular.

"You don't need a guide book, you've got me!" Taylor exclaims, pointing enthusiastically at himself, stabbing himself in the chest a little too hard so that he winces.

"Okay then, Taylor 'guide book' York, what are we doing today?"

Taylor opens his mouth to reply, but before he can utter any words there are three sharp knocks on the door. Taylor answers it and Hayley comes bounding in, a flame of excitable orange hair. She's wrapped up in a hooded parka as though it's the depth of winter and not the height of summer.

"Are you cold?" I ask her.

She shrugs. "It's not _that_ warm outside."

"Are you secretly an Eskimo?"

"Of course."

"So do you know what we're doing today?"

Hayley grins. "Yep. Today is officially my unhealthy day-"

"Everyday is officially unhealthy day for me," Taylor interrupts.

"We know that Tay," I answer, nodding at him.

"-so," Hayley continues, "I was looking up places to eat and I found..." she whips out her phone and scrolls a little before thrusting the phone in our direction. "This."

I get off the bed and peer at the screen along with Taylor. "Dylan's Candy Bar?" we say in unison.

"Uh-huh," Hayley replies. "Just look at the place! It's so cute."

"And also very bad for your teeth," I add, studying the photos of _Dylan's Candy Bar_. It's a mixture of pearly white and neon rainbow, the minimalistic furniture punctuated with stands of sweets in hyper colours.

"I told you today is my unhealthy day," Hayley answers. "I'll eat healthily tomorrow before the show. Anyway, we're only in New York for a few days."

"Well, a restaurant dedicated to sweets sounds good to me," I say.

"Candy," Taylor coughs in correction. He grins at me as I elbow him playfully.

We ask if anyone else wants to come and Jeremy, Justin and Jon (all the J's) agree. There's too many of us for a taxi so we decide on the subway instead. As we wander down the stairs into the subway I get another familiar pang of homesickness, the rumble of the trains and the sight of the platform reminding me of the London Underground. But the excitement of being in New York soon replaces that feeling of homesickness and as we ride the train deeper into Manhattan I forget about home altogether; there's nowhere I'd rather be right now than with Taylor and the new life I'm building for myself in America.

Once off the subway and back on ground level, we can see _Dylan's Candy Bar_ coming from miles off. It's a hub of throbbing neon and blinding white, and Hayley grins excitedly at me as we near it. We all pile inside, and immediately Jeremy says, "Whoa."

The place is much larger than I thought it would be. Not only is it basically a _huge_ sweet shop, it also has a bar, private party rooms and apparel. It's like the real-life version of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, only without the Oompa Loompa's.

"Is this for real?" I exclaim, not registering that I'm voicing my thoughts.

"I hope so," Taylor says, grabbing my hand and dragging me further into the shop, his face lit up like a child's. There are towering stands of lollipops in bright colours, rows and rows of chocolate bars and sweets in every flavour under the sun. Everyone splits off in different directions, and after a little while we bump into Hayley in the apparel section as she tries on all the candy-related t-shirts.

As we leaf through the apparel, my phone buzzes in my pocket and I take it out. I have a Direct Message from twitter and almost immediately my stomach drops, hitting the floor then tumbling right on through to the centre of the earth. With my heart hammering like a pneumatic drill, I check the message. It's from Josh and it reads, 'What did you say to my sister?'. I can hear in my head the venomous tone in which it would be said if Josh were to ask this to my face. I go white at the thought of it.

"Callie, you alright?" Taylor questions me, his voice filled with concern, his brow furrowed as he looks at me.

I snap out of my reverie and shake the pallor from my face. "Yeah, I'm fine, just dreading how much money I'm going to be spending in this place," I reply with a little laugh.

Taylor laughs back, but as we continue through the shop and I try to push all thoughts of Josh and Isabelle from my mind, I start to get an inkling that Taylor didn't believe my lie. When he thinks my attention is focussed on the sweets and not him, he glances at me, his brow still furrowed with that same concern.

Just as we're about to leave, our arms filled with bags of sweets and chocolate and t-shirts, the owner of the shop approaches us, having recognised Taylor, Jeremy and Hayley. She asks them if they'd be a part of the 'Famous Favourites' section of the shop. There's a wall lined with little tubs of sweets, where celebrities who have visited the shop have each picked out their favourite sweet and signed it, putting it in a tub for display. The three of them choose their sweets and put them in tubs on the display, each tub getting a little label with the name of who's it is and the type of sweets inside.

The shop owner, Dylan, thanks us and we leave, our arms already straining under the weight of our shopping bags. On top of that, my heart is straining under the weight of whatever drama is waiting for me back in Nashville.

When we're back at the hotel, I collapse onto the bed. Taylor sits beside me, tipping our bags upside down so that all our sweets fall out into a pile.

"I feel like I've been trick-or-treating," he says, eyeing our mountain of goodies.

"Hmm," I say in agreement, only half paying attention.

It's silent for a moment and I barely notice the difference.

"You're not okay, are you?" Taylor punctuates the quiet. It's not a question.

I meet his eyes, pulling myself out of my dark thoughts and into the present. "I'm fine," I reply. "Just a bit tired after that plane journey."

Taylor watches me with a look of suspicion. "I don't believe you. You were fine earlier. Something's happened."

"Nothing's happened," I protest, sitting up. The mountain of sweets slides to greet me.

"You know, whatever's happened, you can tell me," Taylor says, fiddling with a wrapped sweet. "You can tell me anything."

"I know I can Tay," I answer, unable to meet his eyes because I know I've been keeping things from him. "But there's nothing to tell."

The silence settles again like a thick layer of dust, choking and uncomfortable. "Okay," Taylor eventually mumbles.

My heart sinks at the sight of Taylor's expression. He looks a little upset. He knows I'm still not telling him the truth, but I can't bring myself to tell him about Isabelle. I regret what I said to her, and I regret it even more now that Josh is visibly annoyed. Angry, in fact. Why didn't I think about the repercussions?

I reach out a hand and rest it on Taylor's knee. "Everything's fine Tay, don't worry. Let's just enjoy today and the show tomorrow, alright?"

He smiles at me. It's a little weak, but it'll do for now. "Okay," he repeats more forcibly, leaning over our toppled mountain of sweets to kiss me.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-four - Dawn

I find Summer in the hotel spa, cucumbers slapped on her eyes. At first they wouldn't let me into the spa because I hadn't paid, but when Summer recognised my voice as she heard me arguing with the woman at the desk they grudgingly let me go in.

"How was Dumbledore's Cake Store or whatever it was?" Summer asks, adjusting the cucumbers.

"_Dylan's Candy Bar_," I correct her. "And it was going great until Josh DM'd me on twitter."

Summer whips the cucumbers off her eyes and stares seriously at me. "What happened?"

I explain about the whole fiasco with Isabelle and how she must have told Josh, who's now not in a good mood to say the least. "But don't breathe a word of this to anyone," I add, "especially not Taylor. I'll tell him when we get back to Nashville; I don't want him going to the Fueled By Ramen show angry and worried."

"I won't say anything," Summer replies sincerely. "Does anyone else know what happened?"

"Just Hayley."

Summer's jaw drops in mock disbelief. "You told Hayley before you told me?"

I roll my eyes at her. "You were out with Logan, remember?" I say, suddenly realising that Summer hasn't been dropping her boyfriend's name into every conversation. I feel a pang of guilt as I realise that I've been worrying over my own relationship and all the drama around it, forcing Summer to worry for me too when she probably has enough on her plate as it is. "How are you and Logan anyway? You haven't mentioned him much."

Summer shrugs, her expression nonchalant. "We're alright I guess. We're not really getting along like we used to but..." she trails off and I'm left biting my lip, wondering what to say. Then she shrugs again, this time more dismissively and replaces the cucumbers on her eyes. She continues in a lighter tone, "I prefer talking about your drama anyway, it sounds like something from a soap opera. Evil ex-bestfriend of your rockstar boyfriend, evil sister of your rockstar boyfriend's ex-bestfriend, rockstar boyfriend trying to make it up with another of his ex-bestfriend's who is also the brother of the other ex-bestfriend-"

"You're confusing me now with my own life, please stop," I interrupt her, feeling the onset of a headache.

Summer grins at me and changes the subject. "Excited for the show tomorrow?"

"Of course, are you?"

Her grin grows so wide that it almost splits her face in two. "I don't think I could be more excited. It's my first concert."

My eyes go wide in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Wow, you haven't lived."

Summer frowns, the cucumbers sliding off her eyes. "Well how many concerts have you been to then?"

I frown in thought. "Way too many to count. I spent most of my adolescence at gigs, anywhere from Wembley Arena to tiny clubs."

Summer pouts at me, her eyebrows furrowed. "Totally not jealous right now..."

I grin back and swat the cucumbers from her face. She shouts out in protest but I interrupt her, "Now come on, no more pampering, this is probably costing a fortune. I need you to pick out an outfit for the show tomorrow night."

"Okay, okay."

The day comes and goes swiftly, and before we know what's going on it's the day of the show and everyone's heading to soundcheck, leaving Summer and I at the hotel, finalising our outfits for the show. I've settled on torn denim shorts, battered converses and a Paramore t-shirt, but Summer is torn between two dresses that look like they'd be more suited to a summer party.

"Okay, I'm being serious now, which dress?" Summer asks, holding up the two dresses while I sit on the bed, bouncing my phone on the mattress.

"You weren't being serious before?" I ask, now feeling bored. I'm not great at waiting. Once we're on our way to the venue though I'll be a ball of nervous excitement.

Summer drops the dresses and gives me a withering look. "No, I was showing off these dresses for fun." She picks up the clothes again. "Now, tell me which one."

I sigh and look from one dress to the next. I point absently. "That one, the a-line dress."

Summer grins. "That's totally the one I was thinking about."

I throw up my hands in exasperation, about to ask her why she didn't just choose that one herself, but before I can get a word out she goes skipping into the bathroom.

"How long till we have to go?" Summer calls, rifling through her make-up bag.

I glance at the time on my phone. "Half an hour."

With those words my stomach gives a twist, curling up with nervous excitement. Usually I'm just excited to be seeing a band live, but this time it feels different. To be honest, I'm more excited about seeing Taylor play live than anything else. I don't know, I feel a bit like a proud mother. Which is a little weird, but I just feel proud. Proud of all of them.

Summer emerges from the bathroom in her dress, white and a-line with a black Peter Pan colour. "What are we thinking make-up and hair wise?"

"Smoky eyes, messy bun." I glance at her bare feet. "And I have the perfect shoes, wait one second."

I charge to my room and return with my favourite ankle boots – black, suede and brogue style. I pass them to Summer and say, "Okay, I'm now jealous of your outfit, make-up and hair. I am stealing this style at some point."

"Ooh, these boots are really cute, thanks!" Summer replies, disappearing into the bathroom. "And you can steal this style any time as long as we don't wear it at the same time."

When Summer is finally ready my stomach is doing somersaults and I can't sit still. I'm wandering around the room, trying to keep the shaking from my voice as I talk to Summer while she finishes up in front of the mirror. She glances at me and giggles. "Nervous much?"

"A bit."

"And I thought I was the excitable one."

We head down to the lobby of the hotel and while Summer takes a seat I check with the concierge if our taxi has arrived. He gives me a puzzled look and repeats 'taxi' with a tone of inquisition.

"Yeah, taxi," I go on, panic beginning to bubble in my stomach. "Um, Taylor, my friend Taylor York, he, um, he said he'd booked us a taxi? To take us to Terminal 5?"

The puzzled expression slips from the concierge's face, replaced by understanding, and I feel the knot in my stomach loosen a little. "Ah yes, Mr York, I remember," the concierge says. There's a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, not of courtesy but another emotion that I can't place. "I believe your ride is waiting outside." He gestures towards the front of the building. I follow his look but I can't see anything past the pillars and the people milling around outside the hotel.

I return to Summer and say, "Apparently our ride is outside."

She stands up. "Really? Let's go then."

As soon as we step outside my breath catches in my throat, a grin breaks out on my face and my eyes water so much that I have to dab at them to stop my make-up from running. Instead of a taxi, Taylor's booked us a limo. A sleek, black limo.

"No way!" Summer squeals, rushing towards the open door of the limo. She glances back at me and shouts, "I love your boyfriend!"

I laugh at the double meaning of that sentence and climb inside the limo. Lights are flashing, the leather seats are smooth and one side of the limo is lined with glasses and champagne.

"Isn't a limo a bit big for the two of us?" I say, unable to help myself. I can see people gaping at the limo, wondering exactly who it's for as we can see out but they can't see in; I feel a little self-conscious.

"Are you kidding?" Summer replies, her voice still an octave higher than it should be. "We're in a limo! We're in a limo, Callie, who cares if there's only two of us? We're-"

"In a limo, I know," I interrupt laughing.

"Ready to go?" the driver asks.

I nod, a silly grin on my face as we head for the show.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-five – Fueled by Paramore

The limo parks round the back of the venue and Taylor's waiting there when we pull up, grinning like he's just eaten all the stuff we bought from _Dylan's Candy Bar_. The driver opens the door for us and we get out, Summer hurriedly downing her glass of champagne.

"Like the limo?" Taylor asks. He's all dressed up in a black shirt and red tie, looking rather handsome.

"You shouldn't have," I say, throwing my arms around his neck. He wraps his arms round my waist in turn and grins harder.

"I can't do something nice for my girlfriend?"

"And her best friend!" Summer chips in, looking a little tipsy.

I roll my eyes. "Of course you can do something nice-"

Taylor quickly covers my mouth and pulls me towards the building. "Don't say another word."

He removes his hand from my mouth and I grin at him. "Really though, thank you Taylor," I say, sharing a kiss.

Taylor opens the door and we emerge into a minimalistic corridor. A thumping beat is pulsing through the building.

"What time are you guys on?" Summer practically shouts, causing Taylor and I to flinch.

I laugh. "Bloody hell Summer, the music isn't _that_ loud."

She grins sheepishly. "Sorry."

Taylor laughs too and answers her question, "Pretty soon. This set is just finishing and then we're on not long after that."

We wait in Paramore's dressing room with Hayley, Jeremy, Justin, Jon and a bunch of other people all hyped up for the show. The energy in the room is almost tangible; I could reach out my hand and be shocked by it, as if a bolt of electricity were to spark against my fingertips. Then Paramore get the call that they're on and everyone files out of the room, shouting and laughing as the roar of the crowd grows. Summer and I follow them to the side of the stage, glimpsing the crowd past the amps and cases.

"Break a leg!" I call to Taylor over the crowd, wishing him good luck.

He grins back and says, "I probably will!"

Summer and I spend the entire show dancing and singing along, belting out the lyrics so loud that sometimes we can't even hear Hayley over our shouting. I can feel the bass thundering through my chest and I can almost feel the sound of the music colliding with my ears. It's an amazing feeling, to practically immerse yourself in the music, as though the music itself were alive.

In my pocket, I feel my phone vibrate, and I groan in annoyance. Summer glances at me as I take out my phone and check it. What a surprise, it's a DM from Josh on twitter, saying: "So are you ignoring me now?" Again, I can hear the venom laced into those words.

"Just ignore him!" Summer shouts over the music, and I follow her advice. Returning my phone to my pocket, I redirect my attention back to the gig. Just as I look up, Taylor catches my eye and winks at me, and suddenly Josh has been erased from my mind, pushed back to that dark corner he inhabits. I won't let him ruin everything, especially not tonight. As soon as I get back to Nashville I'll apologise about the whole incident with Isabelle and leave it at that. And if Josh decides he isn't finished with me then I'll no longer be civil to him. I won't let him hang like a storm cloud over every day any longer.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-six - Friends

Back in Nashville the weather is wilder, windier, constantly battering the four walls of my house, pushing the porch swing with invisible hands. From my refuge in Starbucks I can watch the world go by, I can watch the world get torn by the wind. It's not much of a refuge, when I think about it; I'm meeting Josh.

I recognise his car pulling into the half-empty car park, cruising to a stop in a space away from the huddle of cars at one end. He gets out, locks the car with a flash of lights and walks towards the building. I eye him from my seat at the window. Ironically, it's the same table he was sat at when I met him that one time. Now I'm the one sat in his seat with a cup of coffee waiting for him.

He walks through the door and almost immediately homes in on me with that intense look. I smile tentatively and take an awkward sip of my hot chocolate. He strides over to me but doesn't take the seat opposite. Instead, he stands behind, hands clutching the top of the chair, knuckles white. There's a hard set to his jaw and a flare of anger in his eyes. I consider making a joke about this being familiar but I decide against it; Josh doesn't look like he's in the mood for humour.

"I got you a coffee," I say a little quietly, sliding the to-go cup across the table like he did with me. That was weeks ago; somehow it feels like it's been years since Josh and I were at least civil to each other. What went wrong again?

"Thanks," he replies, short and sharp. Yet he just stares at the cup, doesn't even bother to take a polite sip.

"You can sit down, you know," I add, gesturing at the seat, trying to keep the nervous waver from my voice.

"I'd prefer to stand." His tone is icy.

I sigh and lean back in my chair, releasing the tension from my shoulders. "Can you please just sit down and talk normally with me? You're making me anxious stood up like that. I'm here to apologise, Josh. I'm not here to have another argument."

He looks at me for a moment and something softens in his expression, as though he's dropping a few internal walls. But even as he takes a seat, I know the barrier is still there between us and it'll be a while yet till I can knock it down completely.

Josh waits expectantly, still not drinking his coffee. He interlaces his fingers, resting his hands on the table.

"I'm sorry about what happened with your sister," I begin. "It was wrong of me to call her a bitch, even if she was being immature-" Josh goes to interject but I stop him, "-and she _was_ being immature, even you can't deny that. But then it was immature of me to retaliate like I did, so I'm sorry, okay?"

Josh watches me for a few seconds, his brown eyes studying mine, searching for something but I don't know what. He has this funny habit of making it seem like he can read your inner most thoughts, and I have to try not to squirm under his gaze. He eventually looks away.

"Okay," he replies, reaching for his cup of coffee. However, his hand stops halfway, hovering mid-air. He sits back and adds, "And you know what? I'm sorry too. I overreacted when I shouldn't have."

"Thanks for the apology," I answer, smiling at him as I take another sip of my hot chocolate. He returns the smile, and I don't know if that warm feeling is my drink or some kind of happiness.

"Although," he says, finally drinking his coffee, "you and Isabelle are just as bad as each other, I think."

I laugh. "Yeah, I can't disagree with that."

Josh laughs too, sitting back in his chair. His posture is now open and content, making me in turn feel more relaxed. "So," he starts. "I haven't seen you around for a while. What have you been up to?"

I shrug. "This and that." Definitely not running away from you in Macy's and going to a gig where your old band played.

Josh smiles over the lid of his cup. "Yeah? What's 'this' and what's 'that'?"

"None of your business," I reply, unable to stop myself smiling too.

Josh shakes his head in mock disapproval. "If we're going to be friends now then we can't be keeping secrets."

I pause for a second, my cup halfway to my lips. "Friends? Really? Is that a good idea? Wouldn't acquaintances be better?"

Josh shrugs. "I don't see why we can't be friends. Yeah there's the obvious stuff like Paramore but... you're not in Paramore and..." He pauses, stares into the distance, deep in thought. But then he shakes his head, clearing the mist and goes on with a small smile, "I suppose we've got to start making amends sometime. I guess me and you might be a good place to start."

I take a sip of my hot chocolate then bite my lip to stop myself from smiling too hard. "Yeah, okay. Friends it is then."


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-seven – Just So You Know I Was Thinking Of You

Jeremy and Kat have just got back from their honeymoon and we've all gone out for drinks to celebrate. Even Hayley, who doesn't usually drink, is having one to commemorate the occasion. I can already feel my cheeks going red after only a few sips of alcohol. I've set my limit at two drinks, that way I won't be a stumbling drunk or a red tomato.

"I think the highlight of tonight was definitely the duet Taylor and I partook in at the karaoke bar," Jeremy says, gesturing across the table between him and Taylor. Before we came here we went to a karaoke bar, where Jeremy and Taylor decided it would be great to duet on Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You'. Kat and I didn't know whether to be flattered or deeply embarrassed. We were both.

"Does drinking make you posh or something?" I laugh at Jeremy, referring to his choice of vocabulary. "'Partook'? I thought me and Kat were supposed to be the traditional Brits here."

Jeremy grins at me and cries out, "Too many English people!"

Chad snorts with laughter just as he takes a sip of his beer. Hayley breaks into fits of laughter and everyone else follows suit. When our laughing-at-nothing-in-particular fizzles out, I'm left wiping the remnants of tears from my eyes, and Taylor has to bite back laughter just at that sight.

"Okay everyone," Hayley begins. "I want a photo of us all together." She worms her way out of the booth and hops into position at the front of the table. But then her face falls and she says, "Oh but I want to be in the photo too."

"Ask someone else to take the photo," Kat says, gesturing at all the people crowded round the bar. Instead, Hayley asks a waiter just as he's passing with a tray full of empty glasses. He quickly dumps the tray behind the bar and Hayley returns to her seat.

"Everyone get a bit closer together, you won't all be in the photo otherwise," the waiter says, holding Hayley's iPhone in readiness.

We all slide across the booth seat, squishing together nearer the middle. Taylor puts his arm round my waist and pulls me closer.

"Okay, everyone say 'cheese'!" the waiter calls cheerily. We all shout 'cheese' and he takes the photo.

"Thank you!" Hayley says as he passes her phone back and returns to work. Hayley checks the photo and smiles. "Aww, that's cute," she comments, Chad peering at the photo over her shoulder. "That's going straight on twitter."

A minute or two later, my phone buzzes and I check it, but it's only a twitter update informing me that Hayley tagged me in a tweet. For a second, a part of me leaped with anxiety. I'm so used to dealing with Josh drama over twitter that it's nice to get something different and generally more optimistic.

"Shall I get the next round?" I ask, glancing round the table at the empty glasses and beer bottles. "Same again for everyone?"

They all agree and I slide out from the booth, Taylor's arm falling reluctantly from around my waist. I find a gap at the bar and wait, ready to catch the bartender's attention. The lighting behind the bar is neon blue and rippling like water, illuminating the row upon row of bottles, alcohol of all kinds. The black obsidian of the bar is smooth beneath my forearms.

"Can I get you a drink?"

I turn towards the voice instinctively. A young man, probably not much older than me, is leering at me. He leans on the bar, lips pulled into a smirk, an empty glass in his hand. I keep my expression stoical and reply, "No thanks."

"Are you sure?" he presses, sidling closer. I start to move away from him but the bar is packed with so many people that there's no room to manoeuvre. "'Cause, you know, you're the prettiest girl I've seen here tonight and it would be a crime not to buy you a drink."

_You're chat-up lines are awful, mate. _But I bite back that retort. This isn't a bar in London; I'm not out with the usual crowd and suddenly I don't know how I should handle this situation. I can smell the stench of alcohol on his breath, wafting across the small gap between us. I could have sworn I saw him at the bar when we arrived almost an hour ago. How many vodka shots has he had since then?

"Really, I'm alright thanks, I'm buying drinks for my friends," I answer, glancing at the bartender. He's still making drinks for someone else and I bite my lip.

I hoped mentioning 'friends' would put him off, but apparently not. He inches closer and grins at me. "Oh yeah? Are you friends as pretty as you?" Before I notice, he reaches out a hand and grabs my bum as though I'm just a possession, something to have and to be admired, abused. I quickly swat his hand away with disgust.

"Hey!"

I spin around and see Taylor advancing towards us. The look on his face is like thunder and I realise that I've never seen Taylor angry before, not properly angry, not like this.

The man turns to Taylor and assumes a defensive posture, standing up straighter and glaring. "Hey man, what's your problem? I was here first."

My eyes widen at that remark. Who does this guy think he is?

"Leave her alone," Taylor says forcefully, his jaw set.

The man laughs, no sign of intimidation on his face. "Why? Because you said so? I can do whatever the fuck I want!"

"Shut up and leave her alone," Taylor repeats. The look of rage on his face still seems so alien to me. I don't know whether to be frightened or proud that he's defending me like this.

It happens so fast it's almost a blur. The man lunges at Taylor, swinging his arm round in a solid punch. His fist connects with Taylor's cheekbone and he staggers backwards. I gasp, but more because I know exactly what Taylor is going to do next; I can see it in his eyes even before he starts to move.

"No Taylor, don't! Taylor don't!" I splutter, trying to put myself between Taylor and the guy but he's already moving, a steely look in his usually warm eyes. He storms forwards and raises his left arm. It collides with the man's nose in a sickening crunch and I gasp again, hoping that at least the sound was of the guy's nose breaking and not Taylor's knuckles dislocating. The man clutches at his bloody nose, red already beginning to stain his fingers. He glowers venomously at Taylor, who is just standing there breathing hard, his hand still balled into a fist.

"Take it outside!" the bartender shouts, too busy with customers to do anything else but look annoyed with us.

I grab onto Taylor and begin to push him towards the door. "Move Taylor, go," I hiss at him, keeping my eyes on the man as he starts to stumble away from the bar.

"Bitch," he snaps at me as he strides past.

"Twat," I retort, returning his icy stare. He stomps past us and disappears outside.

As we pass our table everyone looks at us, but their smiles quickly fade.

"What the hell happened?" Chad asks, looking from the cut on Taylor's cheek to my flustered expression.

"I'll explain outside, we have to go," I reply, my hands still resting protectively on Taylor's back.

Everyone grabs their belongings and follows us outside. The air is frigid and Taylor winces a little as the cool breeze bites at his wounds. We walk down the street towards the car park.

"Taylor, Callie, what happened? Why is Taylor hurt? What's wrong?" Hayley questions us. "I thought Taylor was checking up on you because you were taking so long at the bar; what happened?"

I can feel adrenaline from the situation still rocketing through my blood. "Some complete prick decided to try it on with me at the bar," I explain. "Then Taylor turned up and it ended with those two throwing punches."

"Oh my gosh," Hayley says, lost for words.

"Are you two okay?" Kat asks, her words tinged with worry.

"Yeah we're fine, we'll live," I answer.

We reach the car park and Jeremy roots about in the back of his car for a first aid kit. He brings it over to Taylor and I, and everyone stands a little way away to give us some privacy. Taylor opens the car door and takes a seat, facing outwards. I stand in front of him, ready with the first aid kit.

Taylor flexes his fingers and winces. "My hand hurts."

"I'm not surprised."

Taylor, frowning with both pain and worry, looks up at me as I begin to unpack the first aid kit. "Are you mad at me?" he asks, sounding like a child who's done something wrong.

I sigh. "No I'm not mad at you."

He continues to frown. "Are you sure? I mean... I was only-"

"'Defending my honour', yeah I know," I interrupt. Taylor chuckles and I manage to crack a smile, but his laughter abruptly stops as the facial movement tugs on his cut. It's only a small line across the left cheek bone, barely breaking the skin, but head wounds always hurt and bleed more than is necessary. "Honestly Tay, I'm not mad at you. I was glad you came and saved me actually; it was sweet of you. It's just... I don't know, I guess it was just a bit of a shock seeing you angry like that."

Taylor grins. "You've never seen Angry Taylor before then," he jokes, but he winces with pain again.

"Hold still," I mumble, beginning to dab at the cut on his face with an antiseptic wipe. He grimaces but doesn't complain. "No, I've never seen Angry Taylor before," I continue. "Was it really necessary for him to get in a fight?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to," Taylor apologises, his puppy-dog eyes pleading. I'm glad to see that the warmth has returned to them. "It was an automatic reaction. Besides, he was being a sleaze-ball, I wasn't gonna let him get away with it."

I laugh. "Sleaze-ball," I repeat. I stop dabbing at the cut for a second and look down at Taylor, at the soft curve of his lips, the faint signs of stubble on his jaw, the tight brown curls that frame his face. He looks back at me and we share a smile. "Thanks for rescuing me though," I say. "My little superhero."

Taylor grins, this time ignoring the pain. "Super York."

"Yeah, Super York."

"Don't tell Justin or Chris I've stolen that title."

"I won't," I giggle. "Now hold still, I need to apply the butterfly stitches."

"How do you know how to do all of this?"

"I had to take a first aid course for my Duke of Edinburgh award."

"Huh?"

"Never mind, just keep still."

I stick the butterfly stitches over Taylor's cut, carefully placing each one in the right position. "There, that should do, now let me take a look at your hand."

He offers me his left hand. The knuckles are grazed and bloody, but it looks worse than it actually is. I clean it with another antiseptic wipe and cut off a strip of bandage, wrapping it around his hand.

"Okay, all done."

Taylor stands up and immediately wraps his arms around me, enveloping me into a bear hug.

"I love you, but don't ever get into a fight again," I say against his chest, feeling his warmth settle the goosebumps on my arms.

He chuckles. "I love you too."


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-eight - Notification

I love it when everything starts to go right. I had a dark cloud hanging over me for weeks, threatening to cover the sunshine of my relationship. Now, everything just seems good. Josh and I made up, I haven't seen Isabelle and Taylor's minor injuries are healing quickly.

I'm lying, though. Yes, thinks seem to be looking up, but that storm is still there, roiling and writhing, waiting just on the lip of the horizon to smother my sunshine. I'm not an optimist; something is bound to go wrong sometime soon.

But for now, I'm just going to enjoy things, basking in the rays of light.

"Hurry up!" Taylor shouts for what must be the millionth time. I'm hopping about in the bedroom, trying to pull my socks on my feet but they're getting all twisted.

"Wait a second!" I call back, laughing with frustration and excitement. My socks are annoying, but even irritating socks can't dampen what lays ahead today.

There's a pause, then Taylor retorts, "I've waited a second!"

"Have you seen my boots?" I ask as I speed across the landing, catching a glimpse of him waiting at the foot of the stairs.

"The ankle boots?"

"Yeah," I reply, rummaging about in the spare bedroom. My stuff is now spread between my house and Taylor's, but I actually think most of it has got lost along the way.

"They're down here."

I hurry back onto the landing and wait at the top of the stairs, arms outstretched. "Throw them to me?" I ask, adding a sweet smile for good measure.

Taylor rolls his eyes dramatically and hurls my ankle boots at me, one then the other. I dodge them and they smack against the door of the gnome cupboard.

"Thanks," I reply sarcastically, but I'm laughing anyway. I retrieve my ankle boots and sit on the top step to pull them on.

"Ready?" Taylor asks as I rush down the stairs towards him.

"Yep," I reply, jumping off the last step and onto Taylor's back. Caught by surprise, he almost drops me, but he quickly wraps a hand under each of my thighs and I lace my arms around his neck, a smattering of stubble on his chin grazing my forearms.

The front door is already open, but I'm forced to lean back and close it behind us, almost falling off in the process. He jogs down to the car and I drop off his back. Today we're going to the theme park 'Six Flags Over Georgia'. Of course I've heard of the Six Flags parks, but I've never been to one. I have high expectations though. Back in England the biggest theme park was Alton Towers and I would happily have lived there if it were possible. In my mind all theme parks get compared to Alton Towers, and so they have a lot to live up to. It's a four hour drive from Nashville to Atlanta in Georgia, but with Hayley, Jeremy, Kat and Summer coming too it will be fun.

We're taking my car because it has the option to set up two more seats in the back, but I already said that there is no way in hell that I'm driving. So, Taylor's going to drive for the first couple of hours and then he'll swap with Jeremy, leaving us girls to do nothing but talk and annoy them.

We drive round and pick everyone up, ending at Hayley's house because we knew she'd probably be late. When we get there, she's just finishing packing her handbag for the day and she comes rushing out of the house and throws herself into the car.

"Okay, let's go!" she says, punching the air like she's on stage, and Taylor pulls away from the curb.

En route to Six Flags there is a lot of singing. A lot. The road trip turns into some kind of camp fire session and I'm in charge of scrolling through the radio stations until we find a song that we all know and can belt out at the top of our lungs. Soon we all start to get a bit hoarse, but we decide to keep driving until we reach the Tennessee-Georgia border where to stop off at a welcome centre.

Then we're on our way again, cruising through Georgia, getting closer and closer to Atlanta. Eventually, the signs for Six Flags start to appear and I feel the excitement bubbling in me, anticipating the day ahead. My legs are stiff and ache, even though I stretched them during the break. But I'm just raring to go now, higher and higher.

Before I know it we're parking the car and all clambering out into the sun, a light breeze threading between the rows and rows of cars. The car park is overflowing with families and groups of teenagers, all drifting in a mob in the same direction. We pay for parking then follow them towards the entrance of the park and join the shortest queue we can find.

Pointing to the ticket board, Taylor says, "Hey Hayley, think we can get a cheaper ticket for you? You're a child under 48 inches, right?"

Taylor laughs and Hayley, pouting as she tries to hide her own laughter, slaps Taylor on the arm.

"How short is 48 inches anyway?" Jeremy asks.

I open up a converter on my phone and reply with a grin, "4 foot. Or 1.21 metres."

Hayley, mouth aghast, cries, "I'm not that short!" She slaps Taylor again, who's still laughing.

"Ow!" he shouts. "I didn't say anything this time."

Hayley ignores him and pouts dramatically, crossing her arms huffily.

We buy the tickets, Taylor and Jeremy arguing over who pays. Taylor finally wins him over when he says it's another wedding present, although Jeremy vows to pay him back whether he likes it or not. We head into the park, a huge roller coaster twisting over our heads.

"What ride is that?" I ask Taylor, slipping my arm through his.

"That's Goliath," he replies with a grin, looking like a hyper little boy, and I can't help but to grin myself. "I'm totally going on that later."

"Why not now?"

"Because we're going on Dare Devil Dive first. It's new for this year. It has this 'beyond vertical' drop and it pauses right at the top," Taylor explains excitedly.

"Oblivion at Alton Towers pauses at the top," I state matter-of-factly, but I'm only teasing him. He rolls his eyes and bumps me with his shoulder.

"I love Alton Towers so much," I squeal, laughing and dropping my head into my hands, Taylor laughing with me. "Nothing can compare to Alton Towers."

"Not even Six Flags?"

"Not even Six Flags. Does Six Flags have a half ruined, Gothic manor house in its grounds? Complete with a chained-up tree that's actually cursed? No, I don't think so."

"The tree is cursed?"

"Yeah, the guy who owned the house centuries ago refused to give an old woman some money and so she cursed him, saying that for every branch that fell from the oak tree a member of his family would die. Then there was a storm that night, and one of his family members died after a branch was struck by lightning and fell from the tree. So he ordered his servants to chain up the oak and it still remains chained."

Taylor pauses for a second, a train on Goliath shooting over our heads. "Okay, you win, Alton Towers is better."

I grin at him and say, "Next time you're in England we should go."

"Definitely," he answers, returning my grin and squeezing my arm.

When Dare Devil Dive swims into view we all start running for it like madmen. We join the long queue, seemingly waiting forever before we even begin to near the front. Kat clutches onto Jeremy and stares up at the ride, watching the cars drop over the 'beyond vertical' drop one by one. "I don't know if I can do this," she says, biting her lip.

"Of course you can," Jeremy replies, kissing her on the top of her head, but you can tell by Jeremy's smile that he's going on this ride even if Kat isn't. From the look on Taylor's face, he's the same. Boys.

"Kat, do not leave me, Hayley and Summer with these two," I say sternly.

She grins and says, "Okay, I won't. But I'm still scared. How many can go in one car?"

"Six," Taylor replies immediately, "three rows, two per row."

Hayley and Summer link arms, their faces a little wild with anticipation. "We're going together," Summer says. I didn't think she'd be the type to like roller coasters; I guess I was wrong.

"Jeremy don't leave me," Kat says, still clutching onto him. For a moment, Jeremy looks a little lost, glancing at Taylor, and I realise that the two thrill-seekers were planning on sitting together.

I roll my eyes and say with a smile, "Let's not break up the bromance; me and you will sit together Kat. We can scream and cry to our hearts content then."

"Okay." Kat lets go of Jeremy and I let go of Taylor so that Kat and I can link arms. Taylor and Jeremy, kindling the roller coaster bromance, do the same.

Finally, it's our turn to ride and we all get a car together, Taylor and Jeremy bagging their places at the front. Kat and I spend the entire vertical lift hill repeating 'oh my god', and then we're off. I get why the drop is 'beyond vertical' – it curls inward, resulting in Taylor and Jeremy throwing their arms into the air and mine and Kat's 'oh my god's' becoming one long 'oh'. The ride, though, isn't scary at all; they never are. The rides themselves are always exhilarating, it's the waiting that's scary. You anticipate the worst and get the best.

We try out a few more rides before stopping for lunch. We have to drag ourselves away from Ben & Jerry's in favour of a proper lunch, but we vow to return there later. We stop off at 'Johnny Rockets Express', serving traditional American favourites, which is why I'm a little confused when I find out it's located in the 'British Section' of the park.

When we're sat down, all happily eating and chatting, my phone buzzes. Immediately I think that's it twitter, or my Mum, but I'm on a high from all the rides so I don't feel any sense of impending dread. Instead, it turns out to be a Facebook notification. I open up the Facebook app and check my notifications. My heart sinks. Actually, it doesn't just sink, it drops like a stone and rockets through the floor. The cavity between my lungs is replaced with the pounding of a thousand drums and my hand begins to shake.

"Oh God." I didn't mean to say it out loud and Taylor looks to me, no one else noticing yet.

"What's wrong?" he asks, concerned. There's a smudge of tomato sauce on the corner of his mouth, and I think about how cute he looks, how happy, and how everything is about to wrong, how that storm cloud is heading our way as we sit here in the sun.

"Nothing," I answer, forcing a smile and willing my hand to stop shaking. "Just some drama back in London with a friend and her ex-boyfriend."

Lie. Liar, liar, liar. The drama isn't with a friend and her ex, it's with me and _my_ ex. I didn't just move to Nashville to try my hand at a new lifestyle, I also moved to get away from _him_. And now, to put it lightly, the shit has hit the fan.

_Hey Callie, haven't heard from you in ages. Amelia said you moved to Nashville. Well, guess what? I've got a business trip over there next week, why don't we meet up? Don't worry, your brother gave me your address, hope that's alright. Looking forward to seeing you babe x. _


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-nine - Atlas

Do you ever get so nervous that you feel sick? Sick to the pit of your stomach? It's writhing and dragging me down, not like that nervous excitement. To think I ever dreaded that nervous excitement, dreaded that Taylor would see me turn crimson every time I saw him. Now I would give anything to bring that feeling back, because the last thing I want now is for Taylor to see me like this.

I'm hunched over the toilet, cowering in the public loo's. Pathetic, I know. But after the rides we went and got lunch, and then I got struck dumb with that bottomless dread and my stomach just gave up the ghost. I excused myself from the table, walking normally until I rounded the corner of the diner and broke into a shambling run. All that time playing netball at school came in handy as I dodged round the queue in the toilets, ignoring their whiny protests, and charged into the first cubicle that was just becoming free. The protests – which made me wince internally; there would only have been quiet mutterings of disapproval back in England – soon quieted down when they must have heard my coughing. I managed to keep everything down though.

I feel really ashamed of myself, collapsed on the toilet floor, clutching the porcelain bowl of the toilet as if it's a life line. It's amazing how unafraid of germs you can be when you feel sick; the thought of cuddling a public toilet like this at any other time is revolting. I know I overreacted, but it was the concoction of rides and food and shock-

Who am I kidding? I overreacted.

Except I know, deep down, I didn't.

I peel myself from the tiles and stand on shaky legs. My limbs feel as though they're encased in sweat and I have to silence a groan. I leave the toilets, ignoring the funny looks I get. Stiff upper lip; I am English after all.

Just before I round the corner of the diner I plaster on a smile, so well rehearsed that it feels as though my old skin has returned, the one I managed to shed after moving to Nashville. Everyone glances at me as I return to the table.

"You were gone ages," Hayley says, a chip half way to her mouth. She watches me with something lingering in her eyes. Worry.

I roll my eyes and say, "Ugh, I know, the queue was horrendous."

"They always are at these parks," Summer replies through a mouthful of burger.

The worry in Hayley's eyes evaporates and I relax a little. I'm an excellent liar. Maybe that's something I shouldn't admit to.

Taylor slips an arm around my waist and I glance at him, my heart clenching. I look at his easy smile and his warm eyes and I feel so guilty. I keep all of my problems from him when I should really be sharing them; we should be working through this together. But every time I open my mouth to tell him, my throat constricts and the words lodge there, screaming to come out. And in the end, I just swallow them back down.

I will tell him. When we get back to Nashville, I'll tell him.

For the rest of the day I keep my smile in place, screaming on the rides, laughing when they stop and my hair is sticking up in every direction. I crack jokes, I pose for photos, I slip my hand into Taylor's as though nothing is threatening our relationship. During the car ride home I sing along, I laugh about the day, and all the while my stomach is churning and my hands are shaking.

Once Taylor's dropped everyone off at their houses we go back to his. I barely notice the silence that settles between us, but Taylor seems to. He keeps glancing at me, almost driving through a red light. My right leg twitches, bouncing up and down as though I'm playing the bass drum.

At Taylor's we trudge upstairs and collapse on his bed side-by-side. He reaches out an arm and pulls me to him. "You alright?" he asks, his voice tentative.

I open my mouth to speak, to lie, but in that second my breath hitches and that one word slips out before I can stop it. "No."

Just one little word that in this moment holds more power than those three little words of 'I love you' ever could. The tears begin to bite at my throat, my cheeks burning like wildfire, my vision blurring. Taylor pulls me even closer, wrapping his other arm around me as I lay my head on his chest, curled against his side.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice muffled as he kisses the top of my head.

"Nothing," I say, chickening out like I know I shouldn't. I pick absently at a loose thread on his shirt. "I'm just being stupid."

"No, you're not," Taylor protests. "Something's obviously been bugging you all day." He pauses then, rubbing my arm affectionately, and continues in a softer tone, "You know you can tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me, Callie."

And that's the problem. I know I can, but I feel that I'll only be pressing my burdens onto Taylor, forcing them into his arms for him to worry about. And that's the thing, I don't want him to worry. He has enough to worry about – his friendship with Zac still hasn't been mended – and the last thing I want to do is make him feel any worse, just when things are looking up.

"I know I can, Tay," I say, brushing the early tears from my eyes. "I just-" And that's when I stop myself. I said I wouldn't cop out like I usually do. Either way Taylor's going to worry – worry about how I'm troubled and won't tell him why, or worry about my problems with me. And, in the end, I'd rather have someone on my side. Us against the world.

I wriggle out of Taylor's arms and grab his laptop from the desk. I flip the lid open, the laptop still on from when Taylor used it earlier. I log onto Facebook and, as I click on my profile, my hands begin to shake. I point at the post on my wall and Taylor, noticing my shuddering hands, takes them in his, warm and calloused. He glances at me and gives me a reassuring smile before reading the post. Yet, as he reads, the smile is replaced by a frown, and when he finally finishes he looks at me with worry and confusion on his face.

"Who's James Steele?" Taylor asks.

I swallow the lump in my throat. "My ex-boyfriend."

Taylor's eyes search mine, but I don't know what for. "From the look on your face I'm guessing that the split wasn't amiable."

I shake my head and laugh bitterly. "Not amiable at all. I... I came to Nashville to get away from him. He... it was- ugh!" I shout out in annoyance, unable to get the words out. Somehow the things I want to say sound a lot more fluent in my head. "I suppose I had better just start at the beginning."

Taylor shuffles closer, wrapping an arm around me again. The white glare of the screen stares at me, that wall post as bright as industrial lights. I take a deep breath and begin, "The relationship was good at first. Great, in fact. We met through mutual friends – Amelia, who he mentions in the post – and he seemed like a really nice guy. It's just... as the relationship went on the blinding happiness began to fade and he turned out to be... a bit different. He had a short temper. I just thought that was normal; I mean, lots of people have short tempers, it's common. But then, it would just be over little things, and I could no longer just roll my eyes at it. I felt so stupid being frightened of my own boyfriend and we'd argue. I'd storm out and he'd chase after me, apologising and hugging me and saying he wouldn't do it again. I didn't tell anyone; like I said, I felt stupid. I just tried to pretend that everything was normal, and I became so good at lying that my friends and family never suspected a thing. One day, we were arguing and... he hit me-" with those words, Taylor's arm tightens around me, instinctive, protective, "-and that's when I decided that enough was enough. I left him, but then I still couldn't bring myself to tell anyone what really happened. I told everyone I tripped down the stairs. But then, when I thought I was free of James, he made me feel guilty. He pleaded with me, insisted that he had changed, that he was sorry. So, like the gullible idiot I am, I took him back, and things only got worse. So that's why I moved to Nashville; it was the only way I could really get away from James. I told my family I was moving to start my career which... was part of the truth, but not the whole truth. And so now you know."

I look at Taylor and see him looking right back at me. There's concern in his eyes, deep and raw, and the sight of it makes me tear up all over again. Taylor pulls me closer and whispers my name. "It's fine," he says, rocking me as I bite back tears. "I won't let him hurt you, I promise. He'll have to go through me and Hayley and Jeremy and so many other people that he won't know where to start. To be honest, I think Summer would be enough to keep him away." We both laugh but it's half-hearted, tired.

I sniff. "Can I stay with you till he's gone back to England? He has my address."

"Of course you can," Taylor replies.

It feels as though a weight has been lifted, like the world being taken from Atlas' shoulders. And in the dying light, Taylor rocks me to sleep.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty – On Thin Ice

We moved my main stuff into Taylor's house, just the few belongings that I can't live without. It felt a little weird, like I was _actually_ moving in with Taylor; I had to keep reminding myself that it's only temporary before the blushing teenager in me got all giggly. After all, this isn't some mile stone in our relationship, this is a wall.

James is due to arrive in Nashville today. I have a day off work and I really wish I didn't. Being at work would keep me occupied, take my mind off things, and when work ended I could just go home to Taylor. Instead, I'm all alone. Taylor's at band practice. He didn't want to leave me but I made him go; I didn't want to feel like a burden. Summer is out with Logan after they sorted out their lover's tiff. No one is free.

So I'm sat on Taylor's sofa, the TV blaring but it's just noise, and my right leg is beginning to tingle. To stave off the pins and needles, I get up and plug my iPod into the stereo. I sit back down on the sofa. Songs come and go. _Bring Me The Horizon, The Joy Formidable, The National, Yeah Yeah Yeah's_, song after song after song. And as the songs keep playing I begin to realise that moping about inside is not going to help me. I'm alone with my thoughts, locked in a house with them. It feels as though I'm in a cage with a shark; I try and avoid it but there's no room and sooner or later it grabs me and drags me under.

With that little epiphany, I throw myself off the sofa, turn off the stereo, grab my bag and stomp out of the house. It's only when I skid to a stop on the porch that I realise my car is back at my house. I'm a complete and utter imbecile.

In a burst of annoyance, I throw my bag on the floor and the contents spill out. My phone skitters across the porch and I wince, instantly regretting that action. Sighing heavily, I gather everything up and stuff it back into my bag, picking up my phone last. I wipe the screen on my sleeve, checking for scratches. In a need to vent to someone, anyone, I log onto twitter and tweet: _Trust me to leave my car at my house #ride-less._

It's funny how tweeting to a bunch of strangers can make everything better. Most of these people I've never met and never will, yet telling them my life's problems can lift my anchor from the sea bed.

As I'm turning back to the house, my phone vibrates in my hand, making me jump. My heart is just attempting to settle from being startled when I open the e-mail and see that it's from twitter: 'Josh Farro (Joshfarro87) replied to one of your tweets!'. I frown. Well this is odd. What, no Direct Message hate mail? I'm not complaining though; this is an improvement. I haven't heard from Josh since that day at Starbucks, and that was weeks ago. I'd almost forgotten about him, and this thought causes a sickly feeling to rise in me, a feeling I can't place. It makes me feel hollow. Sadness? Have I honestly missed talking to Josh after all the shit we went through? Yeah we made up, we've agreed to be friends, and in a way that gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, filling that hollow. Yet, for once, I've had other people to worry about upsetting, people other than Josh.

I stop deliberating what I'm feeling inside and check the reply. It simply says: 'Need a ride? :)'.

Did Josh Farro just offer me a lift?

I can't suppress the grateful smile that tugs at my lips. It's little, heart-warming gestures like this that really get me. I remember that time, so long ago now, when Josh and I had a talk at Starbucks and it ended horribly wrong, Josh storming out. But I remember us talking about smiley faces, how they were the difference between a friendly and an angry message.

I tweet Josh back, saying: 'Are you seriously offering me a lift? ;) Thank you! I'm at Taylor's house'.

Less than a minute passes and Josh replies: 'No problem. I'll be there soon :)'.

I sit on the railing of Taylor's porch, swinging my legs back and forth, waiting patiently for Josh to arrive. I have no idea how long it takes to get from Josh's house to Taylor's; I don't even know where his house is. But, as it turns out, I'm not waiting long. I recognise Josh's car turning onto the street.

"Thank you so much, Josh," I say as I get in the car.

Josh pulls away from the kerb and smiles. He glances at Taylor's house for a fleeting second, with a look that can only be described as nostalgia in his eyes, before returning his attention to the road. "Like I said, no problem."

"How did you get here so fast?"

"I was on my way to the mall anyway. I was stopped at a red light and I checked my phone, saw your tweet and thought I'd play the Good Samaritan." He shrugs as if it's nothing, but the smile is still there.

"You were on your phone while you were driving? Honestly, Josh, I thought you were better than that," I joke.

"I was at a red light!" he protests, but we both laugh. It's a little strange to be joking with Josh, especially when the jokes aren't to cause offence, but it makes a nice change.

"Anyway, thanks for the lift, you're a real life saver."

"Where's Taylor?"

"Band practice." I glance at Josh to see if those two little words affect him but he betrays no emotion.

"So he left you alone?"

"He didn't want to," I clarify, "I made him go."

"Why, can't you fend for yourself?" Josh says and I see a smile creeping onto his face. "I mean, I know you have trouble controlling your temper but can't you control anything else? Like the oven? The TV?"

I snort with derision. "That's rich coming from you," I retaliate, but it's all good-natured. "You can't exactly keep a lid on your temper either."

He smiles. "True."

"Besides, I'm perfectly capable of fending for myself, thank you very much."

"Yeah, whatever. You do alright when you're not insulting people."

"Do you want a slap?" I retort and we both laugh.

"Where do you need a ride to?"

"I'll just tag along to the mall, if you don't mind," I answer.

Josh shakes his head. "That's fine. It'll be nice to have some company."

We soon arrive at the mall at Green Hills. I try and stifle a smile when I remember that this is the place where we ran away from Josh in Macy's. That seems so long ago now, worlds apart. Why I ever worried about an argument with Josh - so small in comparison to what went on back in London - is beyond me.

We go inside and the air-conditioning hits us like a slap of Arctic air. Surely it's not necessary to make it _that_ cold? The mall is bustling with people, meandering from shop to shop, shopping bags swinging from their arms like pendulums of plastic. We get Josh's shopping out of the way first and I have to stop every now and then to just laugh. He looks like a rabbit in the headlights, blinded by the bright shop lights and the fluorescent colours, like the mall is a battlefield, treacherous terrain to be traversed. He glares at me and I muffle the laughter, attempting to help him choose the right size, the right colour. Is it just me, or are most men hopeless at shopping? All Taylor and Jeremy ever do is put articles of clothing on their heads.

We decide to stop off at Green Hills' Starbucks, and by now we're both feeling relaxed enough in each other's company to joke that it's not our usual Starbucks, and shouldn't we be arguing right now? Once our order is ready, we grab one of the last free tables, set outside the coffee shop so that we can at least people watch. Josh was kind enough to pay, making me feel even more indebted to him today.

"Let me guess, hot chocolate?" The words go straight through me, arrows of ice that puncture my lungs and rob me of oxygen. It's all I can do not to drop my mug as a hand claps down on my shoulder. Josh, sitting across from me, looks genuinely startled by the expression that must be on my face right now. He glances at the person looming just behind me, out of sight, but I know perfectly well who it is.

It's James. He's here. He's found me.

As carefully as I can, I put my mug down. I try to look calm, in control, but my eyes are struggling to focus. And then James moves into the frame and they have no trouble focussing on that face. Strong jaw, straight nose, those ghostly grey eyes that I once thought were ethereal, intriguing, but now are just unnerving, hostile and psychotic. His black hair is a little longer than before, and I find myself wondering if it's unkempt because I wasn't there to remind him to get it cut. He's tall too, six foot, taller than Taylor and Josh. He towers over us, Josh and I, sat here all quaint and normal with our Starbucks.

"So I'm guessing this is Josh?" James says, gesturing at Josh before crossing his arms over his chest. To Josh that movement may seem casual; to me it's intimidating.

For a second Josh frowns at me, looking confused and wary, before turning back to James. "Urm..." he begins, not really knowing what to say.

Twitter. That's how James knows who Josh is, from when Josh replied to my tweet. James was never interested in the music I liked, unless I mentioned that I thought someone was fit and then he'd get all annoyed. But I never really mentioned Paramore, not in detail, and never mentioned Josh in particular. So James must be following me on twitter from a pseudonym account. But how did he know where we'd be? We never mentioned anything.

James looks to me and we lock eyes, mine going wide, his attempting friendliness. He's a brilliant liar, better than I was. If I kept the truth from my family, he made sure that the notion of his abuse was preposterous. "So Callie, aren't you going to introduce me?"

I swallow hard, my mouth papery like a dried-up river bed. "Um, Josh, this is James, my..." I trail off. Ex-boyfriend? No, more like ex-torturer.

I look to Josh, pleading with my eyes, praying that he understands something is wrong. The look Josh returns sparks hope in me. He knows something isn't quite right. His guard is back up, that intense look has returned to his eyes. Josh glances at his watch and the next words that come from his mouth could make me dive across this table and kiss him, "I think we'd better be going, Callie."

Josh stands up, reaching for the bags, but he never takes his eyes from James. Joshua Farro, I promise to never insult you or any of your family members ever again, no matter what they do, you wonderful, wonderful man.

"But you haven't finished your coffee," James exclaims, still trying to keep up that friendly pretence. However, I can tell by the way a nerve spasms in his neck that this isn't going how he planned. Boo-fucking-hoo.

Josh ignores James and starts walking. I rush past James to catch up with him, flinching as I do, expecting him to grab me but he doesn't. We're a few metres away, walking briskly side-by-side, when James' voice rises over the noise of the mall. "Who's Taylor?"

My steps falter and Josh glances at me, looking genuinely concerned. "Fuck," I breathe. "Let's go." We pick up the pace and hurry from the mall, leaving James behind.

Once we've put a few streets between us and the mall, we find ourselves waiting at a red light, so Josh takes the opportunity to talk to me.

"Who was that exactly?" he asks, his brow creased.

I lick my lips and stare at my hands, fingers nervously intertwining with each other. "It's a long story," I mumble.

"You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to. I just get the impression that you don't exactly like him."

I laugh bitterly. "He's an abusive ex-boyfriend and I came to Nashville to get away from him. That's it, basically. And now he's here."

Josh is silent. Some mindless pop song is playing on the radio. "How did he know my name? And Taylor's?" he finally questions.

"He must be following me on twitter, using a fake account. But that doesn't explain how he knew we were at Green Hills."

There's a pause then Josh sighs heavily. "Sorry, that's my bad. I tweeted earlier. It was just a sarcastic tweet about loving Green Hills. He must have put two and two together; saw that tweet then saw me offer you a lift. Sorry, Callie."

"Don't be, it's not your fault, you didn't know about him."

In an attempt at comforting, Josh reaches over and rubs my shoulder. I smile in thanks. At least he cares.

As the red light turns green, my phone buzzes and my heart leaps into my throat, expecting that maybe James has somehow got a hold of my phone number. But my muscles relax when I see it's from Taylor: 'I'm back home. Where are you? x'.

'I'll be there in a minute', I text back.

Josh drops me off at Taylor's. As I get out of the car, Taylor emerges, all smiles and happiness. Then he sees the look on my face and he immediately enfolds me in his arms. "What happened?"

"James found me and Josh at Green Hills," I say, my voice muffled against Taylor's chest.

"What?" he pulls back and glances over my shoulder. Josh is just pulling away but the two of them catch eyes and Taylor mouths a 'thank you'. "Come inside," Taylor says, and we disappear into the safety of his home.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-one – Thought I Was Safe Beneath The Smoke, But Even Under Cover I Still Choke

Taylor and I order a pizza to save us from doing any work. At least that's what Taylor thinks. For me, it's so that I don't have to go out and face the big bad world in case James appears on the horizon. Taylor dumps the pizza box on the coffee table and we sit on the sofa, snuggled beneath the blanket. The room is dark except for the glow from the television. We're watching _(500) Days of Summer_. This is all I want from life. This is what I never got from James.

We used to be like this, in the beginning. I don't remember when it all went downhill. James just stopped wanting to have nights in. He didn't want to watch a film with me. He didn't want to surprise me with a meal. Everything that made our relationship intimate suddenly twisted, and we became a wry version of our former selves.

This is something that I know Taylor and I will never become.

The next day I'm at work with Summer. I'm actually grateful for all the files I have to sort and the phone calls I have to make. It's nice to keep my mind occupied, and there's something comfortingly mundane about talking to clients on the phone. I think it's the fact that for a few minutes we're both different people, detached from the problems that every person faces; the problems we can't bring to work.

Summer keeps glancing up from her desk to look at me. It's annoying because I want to focus on my work, I have to, but the worry and sympathy in her eyes is causing my emotions to flood to the surface. She knows something is wrong, but I can't bring myself to tell her about James. Not yet.

When it's finally my break, I rush outside, needing the fresh air to cool my lungs. I gulp it down like I've been deprived of oxygen for days. The cars stream past on the road, the sun beats down. Everything is normal.

When my phone rings I don't jump; I'm expecting a call from a client. I don't even look at the number.

But is anything ever that simple?

"Hello?"

"It's pretty rude running away from someone like that."

You know that feeling of shock you get? Utter panic, like you can see the car skidding, the train racing on the tracks, but for the life of you you just can't move. You want to, you really want to, but you can't. Your legs are stuck fast and you realise in that instant that your world is about to end and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

That's how I feel when I answer the phone and hear James' voice.

"Ah ah ah, don't put the phone down." His words still drip with sadism, haunting.

"How did you get my number?" I ask, my voice tight, but he ignores me.

"So how are you liking Nashville? Me? I'm liking it so far. I mean, it's not a patch on London but nowhere else ever feels like home, does it?"

"What do you want James?" I hear the words fall from my lips, hard like bullets, but there's a ringing in my ears that just won't stop. "If you're going to continue harassing me then I'd prefer it if you got straight to the point."

He chuckles in amusement and says, "Okay then, who are Josh and Taylor?"

"Friends. Why does that even matter?"

James starts to speak but I cut him off. "Actually, no, I'm not going to answer to you. You don't own me any more, James. You don't have a grip on my life any longer. So if you'd kindly just bugger off back to England I'd be really grateful."

There's silence on the other end of the line and then he sniffs. He continues in a quieter voice, deeper, less sadistic, "If you think I'm going to give up on us that easily then-"

"Us?" I interrupt him again. "What 'us'? We broke up months ago James, surely that must have registered somewhere in your brain? I don't want to be with you. And, you know what? No matter how much you try and convince yourself, you don't want to be with me either. Just, please, understand _that_ at least. Stop chasing after me. I've moved on, you should too."

I don't know why my words got softer the more I spoke, but by the end of it I'm kicking myself inside. I always do this – I try and be gentle with me, like he never meant to hurt me, when in fact he did.

"I'm not letting go that easily." And with that, he puts the phone down.

I bury my head in my hands, fraught with frustration. Why can I never get through to him? It's like talking to a brick wall. I've tried being nice, I've tried being nasty, but whatever I do he just can't see past the blinkers he wears.

"Callie? Are you alright?" I jump at the voice, but it's only Summer.

I sigh heavily. "Yeah, I'm fine." I try and focus on the way the wind grabs at her blonde ringlets and dangles them in the air, but I can't still the shaking in my hand.

"Well, you don't look it," Summer says, her voice timid.

"Honestly, I'm fine Summer, don't worry."

"It's not Taylor, is it?"

"No! God no, Taylor and I are fine. Just trouble with a friend back in England, that's all."

Summer's face brightens. "Oh, good. You were beginning to worry me for a minute there." She laughs timidly.

"Don't worry about me, Summer. I can handle myself," I reply as we walk back to the office.

As we're returning to our desks, my phone vibrates and I discreetly read the text under the desk. It's a withheld number and my stomach plummets.

_I know you're not staying at your house. You can't hide, Callie. I don't care what you think, we're not finished. I'll find you._

I know how to handle myself. But the question is, does Taylor know what's coming?

I have to get home.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty Two – This Heart, It Beats, Beats For Only You

My boss, Richard, is absently twirling a pencil between his fingers, his lips pursed. I've just asked him if I could take the rest of the day off. Apparently, I don't feel well. In truth, I don't, but it's not because of a virus, it's because of fear.

He sighs and sits back in his chair. "Okay then. You've worked hard today so..." He shrugs and continues, "Just make sure you're on time tomorrow."

"Of course, thank y-" I begin when the office door flies open.

"Rich, a tornado warning's been issued," says the woman, her voice a little breathless.

"Really?" Rich clarifies, suddenly on high alert.

The woman nods.

Well now the shit has really hit the fan.

Rich sighs heavily again. It seems he can't be bothered for today. "Okay, you know what to do, get everyone to the basement."

The woman nods again and leaves the room, and I remember her name is Carys. I wonder what's going on in her life. Whether she hides all her problems behind an indifferent mask like I do. Whether she lies because she worries more about how her own feelings affect others than how her feelings affect herself.

Rich strides past me, starting to shout out orders in the office. What on earth am I going to do now? I need to get back to Taylor's but it seems that even the weather is working against me.

I stand in the doorway to the office, sweat prickling on my body, people rushing about the room like headless chickens. No one even notices me just stood here like a lemon.

_No one even notices me._

Before I can think about it properly, my legs are carrying me across the room. My hand is snatching my car keys and phone from my desk and in under a minute I'm outside the building and am running across the car park. The clouds are being whipped into a frenzy, like a child with candy floss. I curse myself under my breath; I really shouldn't be out in this weather. But that doesn't stop me from getting in my car and speeding away. Right now, Taylor's safety is more important to me than my own. Just like the approaching storm, James can't be stopped.

My fingers drum nervously on the steering wheel as I wait at numerous traffic lights. I think the police would understand if I sped through the lights, but I don't want to risk a collision. I'm no good dead.

With every turn I'm closer to Taylor, closer to finishing this mess. I just hope that when I get there I won't see something I don't want to. I'm expecting the worst. Blood, gore. I know – hope – that won't be the case, but you never know what's going on in someone's mind. Especially not James'.

When I finally turn onto Taylor's road I abandon the speed limit and skid to a stop in his driveway. His car is not there and for a moment I'm stumped, confused. But I'm not taking any chances, so I scramble out of the car. The wind is whipping through the trees, howling through the spaces between the houses like I'm on the Dartmoor moors. I have a sudden image of night, a ferocious dog and I remember the TV adaptation of _Sherlock Holmes and the Hound of the Baskervilles_. I shake my head as if that will clear my thoughts.

I am Sherlock, composure abandoned. James is the hound, all bark and bite. And Taylor is-

I hammer on Taylor's door, then realise what I'm doing, so I frantically reach up to the door frame until my hand feels cool metal. Grabbing the key, I turn it in the lock and practically fall into the house.

"Taylor?"

I charge from room to room, shouting his name, but the only answer I get is the screeching and moaning of the wind. As I reach the last empty room, I'm filled with hope and despair. Hope because neither Taylor or James are here, but despair because of the same reason. I'm not out of trouble until I find Taylor.

I whip out my phone and call him. It rings and rings and rings and I feel tears threatening in my eyes. But then-

"Callie? Callie are you okay?"

I sigh with relief, almost losing my balance so I have to grip the desk by my side. "Taylor," I breathe. "I'm fine, honestly, don't worry-"

"Where are you?"

The question catches me off-guard. I was about to ask the same thing. "I'm at yours. Where are you?"

Pause. "I'm at yours."

"Alright, stay there Tay, I'm coming round now."

"No, Callie, no, what are you doing? I'll-"

"Honestly Tay, just stay at mine, please, I'm begging you. I'll be round soon, just stay there."

"But Callie-"

"Taylor, please! Just stay there."

He pauses again then sighs irritably, but even I can sense the worry in that sigh. "I don't like you being out in the storm, Callie, it's not safe."

"I know, I'll be quick, I promise. I love you."

"I love you too Cal. Be quick."

"I will."

I end the call and stuff my phone into my pocket, sprinting down the stairs. I don't even have to look out a window to know that the rain is lashing, scudding the ground. I shut the door behind me and step out into the rain. The droplets of water pummel me so that I can barely see anything, but I can just make out my car. This must be one hell of a storm; there was no rain during the last tornado.

I sense him before I see him, before I hear him, just as I'm reaching out a desperate hand to open the car door. He grabs my wrist and I instinctively yank my arm free, spinning around to face him.

"What are you doing?" James shouts over the wind and rain. His hair is plastered to his forehead and his clothes are sodden. He glares at me, but I'm thankful that the rain obscures the true hypnotism of his eyes.

"I'm not your property any more, James," I reply. I go to open the door again but he knocks my hand away. The force of the blow is so strong that I lose my footing and hit the wet tarmac. I gulp down air and turn my head to look up at him. His hands are clenching and unclenching, like he's unsure of what to do next.

"I have a new life here, a life I like," I shout at him from where I lie on the ground, while I have a few precious seconds to say what I need to. "And yes, I have a new boyfriend too. But that shouldn't matter to you James, yet somehow it does. You need help and, you know what? I feel sorry for you. I'm no longer afraid of you. I'm not the lost and lonely one any more. I'm not the one who cries out for attention. I never was. It was always you and it always will be until you sort yourself out."

I pull myself onto my feet, my limbs feeling heavy. A few seconds pass between us as James and I just look at each other, watch each other through the stream of rain. It feels like seconds, but it could be hours, days, years. When, suddenly, James closes the gap between us, and before I can react his lips are on mine.

My immediate reaction is to push him away, to shove him off me and wipe my mouth like a child. But something stops me, and it's the realisation that he needs this. He needs this last bit of contact, this last sincerity, to try and erase what he did. Those memories can never be erased, but maybe the hurt can.

I kiss him back and a part of me squeals at me not to do so. But it reminds me that I loved him once and he loved me too. Yet this kiss also reminds me that the love we had pales in comparison to what I feel for Taylor, and what I finally know he feels for me.

James' fingers are laced into my dripping hair, his hands bracing either side of my face as he draws away. His touch is soft and his breathing heavy. We stay like that for a moment, locked together, before I say, "Goodbye James."

I slip from his grasp and get in the car, pulling away from the house. Through the slicing rain I can make out James' figure, a dark shadow lingering there. And then he disappears, a shrinking speck in my wing mirror.

"What were you thinking? I was worried about you; don't you ever do that to me again." Taylor wraps me into an embrace, ignoring how drenched I am.

"I'm sorry," I say, my voice muffled against his chest. He's comfortingly warm after the cold of the rain. "Why are you at my house?" I ask, pulling away a little so I can look him in the eye.

"Why were you at my house?" he retorts with a little laugh, but there's still worry in his eyes.

I take a deep breath. I have to tell him the truth. "James. I... I thought he might come and find you so I rushed to yours. The storm just got in the way." I can't stifle a laugh at my last sentence and Taylor laughs too. "But it's all sorted now." I hope. With a slight hesitation I add, "Tay, he kissed me. I'm not gonna lie to you and say I didn't kiss him back. But that's not because it meant something to me, it's because I think it meant something to him. I can't forgive him for what he did to me, but I can forget. Maybe now he'll leave us alone and I can do just that – forget."

I wait for an agonising moment for Taylor to reply. He looks at me and I look at him, but there's no anger in his eyes. "Come here," he finally says and draws me into another one of his bear hugs.

We stay like that for what seems like ages until I notice something. "The rain's stopped," I say, trying to listen over the sound of Taylor's heart pumping.

"That means the tornado's on us," Taylor explains, and as if to prove his point the house gives a shudder. It's a good thing we're in the basement.

We ride out the storm in each other's arms, curled up on a spare mattress in the corner of the room. When it finally blows over, I ask Taylor, "Why are you at my house anyway?"

Out of the corner of my eye I see a knowing smile creep onto Taylor's face, accompanied by a blush.

"What?" I ask. I can't help smiling; his smile is infectious.

"Come with me," he says, taking my hand and leading me up the stairs. My clothes feel all itchy and stiff as they're still partially wet, but when we emerge into a room of flickering candlelight I forget all about it.

"Wow, I'm surprised the candles survived," Taylor comments. He bites his lip and glances at me, trying to gouge my reaction.

My dining room has been transformed into a glowing paradise. The table is draped in red silk and topped with red candles. Cutlery waits to be used.

I feel my eyes threaten tears again but this time it's tears of joy. "Taylor," I say, running back into his embrace.

"I thought you needed cheering up," he answers, kissing the top of my damp head.

"I look a mess," I add, moving back to smooth down my hair and clothes.

Taylor stops me, gently taking my hands in his. "You look beautiful."

"Even when I look like a drowned rat?"

Taylor laughs. "Even when you look like a drowned rat."


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-three – Move Along

We never really heard from James again. I presume he went back to England, as he'd regularly pop up on my Facebook newsfeed and from what I discerned he was getting on with life, the way it should be. In the end I wasn't happy that it all stopped, I was happy that James was getting better. What he had was a sickness, and for him to finally begin the healing process was great. I'm learning to forgive and forget; it'll just take time.

Yet now I finally feel ready for another trip – a trip home. I haven't been back to England for months and homesickness has begun to chew at my insides. So I spoke to Taylor, Hayley, Jeremy and Kat about a holiday to England, and they all agreed to it.

The flight was fun for the first hour as our laughter reverberated off the cabin walls, but the the fatigue kicked in soon afterwards and I felt like a beached whale, lying in my seat as I half-watched a film, too uncomfortable to even hold Taylor's hand any longer. I wish they'd hurry up and make teleports already.

As the plane touched down at Heathrow I had to resist the urge to press my face against the window. I was loving America, but there's really nothing like seeing your own country's soil for the first time in months. You would think soil is soil, but everyone is a patriot, secret or not. The sky was a little overcast, but whoever says that it rains 24/7 in England is exaggerating; the summer's can be deathly hot, for an Englishman anyway.

Once we'd claimed our luggage we emerged into the proper English air at the front of the terminal. Planes droned overhead, sounding almost like bombs dropping. Taxis and buses jostled for space on the road. Suitcase wheels clicked rhythmically on the concrete. After a few minutes of waiting, a sleek, black four-by-four pulled up beside us and for a second my jet-lagged brain managed to convince me that I was still in America. But through the tinted windows I caught a glimpse of my Mum's grin.

She rushed from the car and went straight in for the hug. "Oh darling, I've missed you." The hug was on the verge of a choke.

"I've missed you too," I replied, for once generally meaning it rather than just saying so to keep her happy. "Where's Dad?"

"Well hello to you too," Mum replied, trying to look offended that I'd asked about Dad, but her grin betrayed her. "He's working right now, but he'll be home later. Everyone climb in!"

We loaded our suitcases into the car and Mum sped away from the curb. As we drove through London, Kat and I talked incessantly about our favourite places to visit. It seemed that we had officially crowned ourselves the event organisers. Eventually, we emerged on Sloane Square in Chelsea. The square was thick with trees, the ornate Victorian buildings of brick red and white stone, the large department store leading onto King's Road. I was finally home.

We followed the bustling King's Road until the shops and restaurants began to give way to quaint squares of lavish town houses. Then Mum parked the car outside one of them and the realisation hit me that I really was home. I'd grown up in a little semi-detached house in Surrey. When I was seven, my Dad got a promotion in work that required our moving to London. Before long, Dad was earning enough to buy us a home in Chelsea. I wasn't a spoilt little rich kid, and I prided myself on that.

We unloaded the car and carried the suitcases up the clean, white stone steps to the house. The door was shiny and painted black, the number '17' printed in metal. From the outside the house was cream stone, red brick and actually quite thin. But the thing about Victorian town houses in London is that they may not be wide but they're very long; they go back a long way and up a few floors.

Mum gave everyone a tour of the house. We found my brother Tom lounging on his bed, PS3 controller in hand. He gave us a quick wave without bothering to pause his violent game. I directed everyone to the guest rooms and they proceeded to unpack.

Now, I currently find myself showing Taylor my bedroom. He waddles in, lugging our two suitcases, and dumps them in the corner with a thump. Everything about my room is just as I left it. The cleaner has obviously been in here to dust as there's no film of grey on the furniture. Yet other than that, it seems that my room has been untouched since I left it almost a year ago. I thought Mum and Dad might turn it into another study or exercise room or game room. In a way, it's sweet that they didn't have the heart to change anything.

I wander around the room, forgetting for a moment that Taylor's here. On the right wall is my double bed, cushions arranged perfectly. My desk sits against the south wall, my dressing table on the far left wall. The window on the north wall looks out on the small but immaculate garden that my Mum practically lives in. My bookcase is littered with novels and DVDs, even some videos. My pin board is crammed with photos, ranging from when I was a child, having just moved to Chelsea, to a few months before I left for America. I flick through the photos, moving some aside to look at the older ones partially obscured beneath. The photos barely change. In every one is a similar set of people. Always me, my hair and clothes changing. Amelia is generally in the photos with me. She was like my twin; I was her 'sister from another mister'. She's all dark brown hair, block fringe, olive skin, gorgeous smile. Then there's Vicky, Emma, Hele, Beth, Steph, Rob, Dean, Nick, Cal, Linny, Sam; a whole range of people. Then there's James too. I never got round to taking those photos down. There's the photo of us at Drayton Manor theme park. Me, James, Amelia and Dean soaking wet after going on the log flume. We frown, but the frowns are mixed with laughter. I try and remember who was taking the photo. Was it Nick? Or Vicky? I can't recall. Then there's James and I on a hill somewhere in the countryside. A whole load of us decided to go camping for a weekend. It was Steph who took this photo of us, balancing on a jut of rock that stuck out over the edge of a cliff. I'm stood precariously on my tiptoes and James is stood just behind me, his fingers interlocked with mine. We're obscured in shadow as the sun sets in a whirlwind of oranges and pinks before us on the horizon. I am forgetting the bad, but I refuse to forget the good.

There's a squeak of bed springs and I turn around to see Taylor relaxing on my bed, hands behind his head. I smile and walk over to him, curling up against his side.

"So what are we doing tomorrow?" he asks. I can feel the heat radiating from him, warm and comforting.

"I don't know. You lot can decide. But on Friday we have a party to go to; all my friends want a catch-up," I reply, snuggling closer.

"Sounds cool to me," he says, and wraps an arm around me.

This is going to be a busy two weeks.


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-four – Midnight City

You can hear the pulsating beat from a street away. It courses through the tarmac and concrete like the road has a heartbeat. Tonight we're going to Juju, a famous bar on King's Road, for the 'welcome back' party that my friends have organised. We used to practically live at Juju, and with each step closer my heart pumps louder, keeping in time with the rhythm of the music.

I had been humming and hawing all afternoon about what to wear. I couldn't choose between my (tasteful) red lace dress from Erdem or my Mex Tex sequin midi dress from ASOS. After a while, I noticed that Hayley had her eye on the Mex Tex dress so I said she could wear it and I'd wear the lace one. Luckily, the dress fits her, and the fact that the purples and yellows clash with her orange hair only makes it look more stunning on her than it ever would have looked on me. Also, the Mex Tex dress was only £250, whereas the Erdem lace dress was £1960. Yes, I know, that's a lot to spend on a dress, but it was an impulse buy that I'd knew I'd get a lot of wear out of, and I had a pair of red high heels that would match. Besides, I'd rather I spilled drink on it than Hayley did because I can't get mad at Hayley.

As we round the street corner, the sleek black building of Juju swings into view and the music suddenly grows louder. Outside is a long queue of people eagerly waiting to get inside. From what Amelia explained, she booked the entire venue; news that I winced at because it must have cost a fair amount. But, in truth, she needn't have bothered, because she ended up inviting the maximum of 300 anyway, which is a good chunk of the Chelsea crowd.

I lead the way to the bouncer on the door. "Callie Evans, I'm on the list," I say. I gesture behind me to Taylor, Hayley, Jeremy and Kat. "They're with me." The power of saying those words. I feel like a celebrity.

The bouncer looks at his clipboard and nods. "Alright, go in."

I flash a grin at the others and we head inside, Taylor slipping his arm around my waist. I've had enough practice walking these stairs that I don't fall over, but Kat teeters slightly and we all laugh, Jeremy taking her arm to steady her. We emerge right in the centre of the room. The bar is straight ahead and the leather seating areas are spread around the sides. The entire bar is lit up with a gold glow.

I immediately notice Amelia at the bar, waiting on a round of drinks. I shout her name over the music and, thankfully, she hears, turning around. Her face breaks into a grin and she barges through the crowd, arms outstretched.

"Callie!" she squeals, gathering me into a hug that involves us jumping in a circle. "Oh, Cal, I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too, Amelia." I can feel tears pricking at my eyes but I hurriedly blink them away.

We pull away from our hug and Amelia turns her attention to the others. "Ooh! Okay, let me guess. That's Taylor-" she points at Tay, looking all dapper in his shirt, "-that's Hayley, the orange hair is a bit of a give-away. Which means that's Jeremy and that's Kat. Right?"

"Yep," I reply with a grin.

"Well it's so great to finally meet you all," Amelia adds. She's looking so beautiful tonight in her flowing black dress. Why do I always make friends with the pretty people? No matter how hard I try I'm never the 'pretty friend' when I'm with Amelia. The good thing, however, is that she doesn't flaunt it.

"You too," Hayley says. "We've heard a lot about you."

"Nice things, I hope."

Jeremy shakes his head. "Horrible things."

"Oh well." Amelia shrugs and laughs. "Come meet everyone else; most of our closest friends are over here."

Amelia grabs my hand and I grab Taylor's until there's a line of us holding hands, dragged by Amelia to the seating area opposite the bar. I can feel nostalgia stabbing me in the gut as I see everyone together again; the entire crew, laughing and joking. I used to be there, sat right there. In the middle with Dean and Amelia and Nick. Or on the edge with Vicky and Emma and Steph. I encounter a feeling of longing, to be part of it all again. It was a big decision, leaving them behind. But I have new friends now, a boyfriend.

Everyone cheers when they catch sight of me. "Oh stop, you flatter me," I retort with a laugh, swatting away their excitement.

"I got you a Chelsea Iced Tea," Dean calls, holding the glass up for me. It's not tea at all, but actually a very strong cocktail that I choked on when I first tried, which Dean found highly amusing. As a result, he's bought me one every time we've come to Juju, just so he can howl with laughter at me.

"Dean, you shouldn't have."

"Oh but I have." He cocks an eyebrow at me, waving the glass in a figure-of-eight, presumably in an attempt to entice me.

I sigh with dread but I'm smiling, beaming. Everyone shuffles around to make room on the long sofa for the six of us. Gingerly, I take the glass from Dean and he grins with anticipation. I take a sip and immediately screw up my face. It feels like my taste buds are on fire; like someone has poured molten lead down my throat.

I cough and hand the drink back to Dean, who is doubled up with laughter. "Bloody hell, that is so much stronger than I remember," I say, my voice strained as though I've been without water in a desert for weeks.

"I wanna try." Dean passes Jeremy the drink and he takes a sip. "Whoa!" he shouts out. "What do they put in this?"

"Bleach," I reply, still coughing and laughing all at once.

The night is young and so are we. Hayley allows herself one cocktail, and I have to elbow Dean in the ribs when he starts chanting 'chug chug chug'. Taylor settles in quickly with my friends, and he seems to get along best with Nicholas and Dean. All three of them play guitar and after a while I lose track of their confusing conversation. I turn to Amelia and offer to get the next round of drinks.

"You can't!" she calls out over the music. "This is _your_ party; you can't buy us drinks."

"But I feel bad if I don't!" I protest.

Amelia rolls her eyes. "Okay, look, let me put some money towards it. Sound agreeable?"

"Yep."

"Okay then, tell the barman to put it on my tab."

I raise my eyebrows at her in a 'I see what you did there' look. "That totally defeats the object."

"I know," she replies with a grin.

I wriggle my way through the crowd until I reach the bar. It's not packed like it was in that bar back in Nashville, the one where Taylor got into a fight over me; let's hope we don't have a repeat prescription. There's actually room to breathe and I feel my lungs fill with air that's a little cooler away from the clustered bodies.

"What can I get you?" the barman asks with a quick smile.

"Five Cosmopolitans, one Chilli Chocolate Martini and a Virgin Mojito please." The Virgin Mojito is for Hayley. I have to say that I have a lot of respect for her. After one alcoholic drink she's settling on a non-alcoholic cocktail. I like how she's tea-total because she wants to be.

"Do you ever think of trying a cocktail besides the Chilli Chocolate Martini?"

Even over the thumping of the music I can recognise that voice. James. I turn to him, and instead of a smirk he's smiling sheepishly.

"I don't want to try a new cocktail and find that I don't like it," I reply with a smile of my own. At least the air is thick with music and voices, so no awkward silence can settle.

"How are you?" James is leaning with arms crossed on the bar, shoulders hunched. He looks just like he used to.

"Better," I answer. "You?"

James gives a half-smile. "Better. I've been getting counselling."

"Really? That's great. Honestly, it is."

James shifts uncomfortably. His gaze drifts away from mine for a second, staring blankly at empty space, before meeting my eyes again. "I'm really sorry for what I did to you, Callie. I know these words probably don't mean a lot any more but..." He trails off, unable to think of much else to say, biting his lip nervously.

I smile reassuringly at him. "I know, James. What happened, happened; it's in the past. Don't beat yourself up about it because I'm certainly not. You're getting help and that's all that matters."

For a second I think James I going to cry. His eyes seem to mist over, filled with tears, and I smile at him again. He looks like the James I loved once, the James that linked his fingers with mine as we watched that sunset on the cliff edge. In the end it wasn't me that was damaged; it was him.

**A/N I just want to take this moment to thank everyone for their reviews and support. This fanfic has been going for quite a while, and I feel that it's drawing to an end. Don't worry, I still have 10 or so chapters left in me, but I'd rather end it on a high note than drag it out forever. This fanfic means a lot to me as it was the first I ever wrote, so to see that so many people like it is amazing. So I just want to say a thank you to each and every one of you. Thanks for reading, and thanks for loving Callie as much as I do. :)**


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-five – If You Want To, I Can Show You

**A/N So I'm back! After an extremely long hiatus that could rival Fall Out Boy's, I've finally worked up the motivation to get round to writing the next chapter. A huge thank you to those who pestered me to write this, and sorry for the wait. I hope you like it! :)**

"Someone actually get these shoes off me before I break my neck."

Heels. They look stunning at the beginning of the night. Half an hour later the balls of your feet are screaming in agony, your ankles kill and you actually want to die.

Taylor sighs, but it's mingled with laughter. "Hold them up."

I lean against the wall by the front door and lift up a foot. Taylor bends onto one knee and, taking my heel in his hands, gasps. He looks me in the eye and exclaims, "The shoe fits! My Cinderella!"

I laugh and roll my eyes. "The shoe was already on my foot, you melon, now take it off."

Taylor grins and slides one shoe off, then the other. I sigh in relief, wiggle my toes against the cold tile of the foyer. "Heels, never again."

"Until the next party," Hayley chips in.

We try our best to be quiet as we stomp up the stairs but the floorboards suddenly decide to sing in creaks and groans. Our stifled laughter doesn't help, and I feel drunk with euphoria. Not alcohol, but just happiness. It feels like all those fragments I used to call a life have been fused back together. No cracks showing like with glue, but just a perfect, smooth surface.

Everyone says 'goodnight' and we stumble into our respective rooms. I shut the door behind me and Taylor before I've turned the light on. In the darkness I lose him for a second, and I wonder what it would be like to properly lose him, and the thought of it makes my breath hitch in my throat. Yet then a shout of 'ow' allows me to work out where he is. I fumble on the wall for the light switch and when I turn it on I see Taylor rubbing his shin and half grinning, half grimacing at me.

"I hit my shin on the nightstand."

"Aww, poor baby," I croon sarcastically, pouting my bottom lip at him.

Taylor angrily yanks off his shoe and throws it at me. I squeal and duck, the shoe colliding with the wall.

"Oi, no violence," I reprimand him, and we look at each other and laugh, and just his smile has my heart swelling, pushing against my ribs, struggling to break free.

Taylor dramatically rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me what to do, I am the man in this relationship, I set the rules."

"Oh really?" I say, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, really," he replies, hopping onto the bed. He lies there on his back, watching me circle the room towards him.

I dump my bag on the bedside table and look down at him. "And where have you got this idea from?"

He shrugs. "Because I can do this," he answers, and in that instant he grabs me by the arms and pulls me towards him. We roll over so that I'm beneath him.

"Ah, I see what you mean now," I say, and his face is so close to mine our noses are touching.

"Exactly," he replies, and then his lips are on mine, soft and warm and familiar.

The next morning we all trudge into the kitchen and take our seats around the kitchen island while Mum is nice enough to make us a full English breakfast. The smell of sausages, egg, bacon, baked beans and black pudding is heaven to hungover me.

"So what have you lot got planned for today?" Mum asks us.

"I don't know but this breakfast is awesome, I could eat this all day," Jeremy says, shovelling baked beans into his mouth.

"I don't think we have enough food in the house!" Mum exclaims.

"We've got plans," Taylor pipes up, nudging me.

"We have?" I question him. Am I that hungover that I can't remember stuff we've planned to do?

"Yeah, I've organised something for us." Taylor grins mischievously at me.

"Well have fun you two," Mum says, smiling to herself.

After breakfast Taylor makes me hurry upstairs and get ready. No matter how much I push him and pout and whine he won't tell me what we're doing today, and the thought of what it might be has nervous excitement roiling in my gut. When I come downstairs, Taylor is waiting for me in the foyer, scuffing his shoes on the floor. He looks up when I approach and smiles.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, taking his outstretched arm. "So are you gonna tell me where we're going yet?"

"Nope, it's a surprise, be patient Cal."

"You know I can't do patient."

He only chuckles in response.

Outside the house is a car I recognise, and I stare in bewilderment at it. "This is Dean's car," I point out.

"Yeah, he's just dropping us off somewhere."

Dean leans out of the driver's side and yells at us, "Get in, love-birds!"

"What is going on?" I half shout, half laugh at the two of them, but they both just grin at me.

"All will be revealed shortly," Dean quips.

Taylor and I get in the back, and before long we're on the outskirts of London. I have no idea what's going on, why Dean's driving us, where we're going. "Are you guys kidnapping me?" I ask, but they laugh and bat away any comment or question I make.

I resign myself to watching the world go by outside my window, trying my hardest to pinpoint our location. We're out of London by now and must be in Surrey. The countryside whips past, green upon green upon green. And then suddenly Dean is turning down a track I recognise and I feel my heartbeat quicken.

"Dean, this is your family's place," I say.

"No shit, Sherlock," he answers, and I stick my tongue out at him as he watches me in the rear-view mirror.

"So why are we here?"

"Wow, you'll find out in a minute Callie, I'm just your driver, ask your boyfriend if you want to know."

I try and stare Taylor down but he doesn't budge. He laughs and says, "I'm not gonna tell you. Just wait a minute longer, then you'll see."

"Fine," I huff, crossing my arms and sitting back in my seat.

Dean's family home swings into view, all Gothic and antique and regal. We used to come here for parties over the summer. We'd stay in the house, about twenty of us, running through the halls, screaming and singing. Then someone accidentally ripped a priceless painting and that was it, no more parties in the house for us; we were relegated to camping in the neighbouring field instead.

And that's where Dean parks the car. He heads round the side of the house, the gravel drive crunching beneath the tires. The rolling landscape swings into view and if my heart could stop without killing me it would. I've missed this view so much. Fields slope gently downhill towards a valley. On the other side of the valley fields and trees stretch for miles. There's no sound out here except for birdsong and the rush of the wind through the tree tops, rustling the leaves.

Taylor gets out of the car and opens the boot. He then opens my door for me and stands there, picnic basket in hand and a blanket tucked under his arm, a blush in his cheeks.

"Tay..." I begin, but I can't think of any words to express how I'm feeling. Everything would just sound wrong.

"Come on," he says, holding out his hand for me.

"Have fun you two! I'll pick you up later!" Dean calls, and when I shut the door he drives away.

I shove Taylor playfully as we traverse the field.

"What was that for?" he demands, the picnic basket swinging.

"You're too perfect, you idiot."

Taylor throws his head back as he laughs, and the sound of it fills the countryside around us. "Well, what can I say? I am, aren't I?"

"When did you plan this?" I ask him as we stop in the middle of the field. Taylor spreads out the blanket and dumps the basket on top.

"Last night," he answers. "I was talking to Dean and..." He just shrugs and smiles.

I shake my head and laugh. It's all too much. The feeling that is overwhelming me is too much to bear, and I'd tackle Taylor to the ground right now and just stay there forever if I could. But instead we sit on the blanket as Taylor unpacks food from the basket, laying it out before us. Sandwiches and wraps and crisps and salad. I know my Mum's handiwork when I see it; so she was in on this too. Am I the only one who didn't know about today?

We sit and eat and talk in that field for what seems like years, yet the sun stays fixed high up in the sky, illuminating the landscape before us. The birds sing and the breeze trails up and down my arms.

"Oh, would you get that cake out the basket? It should be the only thing in there," Taylor says, taking a sip of his drink.

I lean over and flip open the lid, yet the only thing in the basket is a tiny little box, royal blue and perfectly square. I glance at Taylor but his face betrays no emotion. My hands begin to shake as I reach in and take it out. My legs feel like they're going to go from under me, but before I know it I'm on my feet, stifling a gasp.

"Taylor..." I start, but once again I can't finish my words. He stands up slowly and just looks at me for a second before he takes the box from my trembling fingers and goes down on one knee. He opens it and what's inside glimmers as it catches the sunlight.

"Oh my god," I breathe, stumbling backwards and wheeling back around so that I'm stood in front of him again.

"Callie," he begins, and tears are pricking at my eyes at the sound of his voice saying my name. "I guess you kinda know now why I brought you here today. But, you can't begin to imagine how much you mean to me. I've never felt this way about anyone before, and I know people say that a lot but it's true. You've made me feel whole, and you're not just my girlfriend, you're my best friend too, and the time we've spent together has been perfect, so perfect, but it hasn't been long enough. Callie, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You and me, forever. So-" he takes a breath, his voice shaking but sure, "-will you marry me?"

If my smile could stretch any wider then my face would split in two. The tears are spilling over, running down my cheeks, but I'm not sad. How could I ever be sad? What I feel right now is what pure love feels like, and it's all I've ever wanted. "Yes, Tay, of course I will."

And in that moment he's on his feet and I'm in his arms and he's kissing me and the birds are singing louder than they ever have before.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-six – Your Heart Is Not Breathing

The days afterwards went by in a blur. Congratulation's, thank you's, champagne, Taylor, smiles, cards, hugs, Taylor, friends, Taylor, family, Taylor, Taylor, Taylor. I was drugged up on euphoria, and everything had this pinkish tinge. It felt like the pieces of my life were, are, finally falling into place.

When we got off the plane back in Nashville, tired but still happy, Hayley announced that she'd spent our last few days in England organising an engagement party and, jet-lagged or not, we had to attend tonight.

At that, the dark circles beneath Summer's eyes seemed to shrink away, and her eyes lit up as though someone had returned home and turned the lights on. You just have to mention the word 'party' and Summer's mood rockets skyward. She barely gave me enough time to dump my bags at home before her car pulled up outside, the horn beeping. She then had me trying on dress after dress after dress.

Halfway through this shopping session Taylor texted me saying, _Jeremy's taken me hostage while Hayley is decorating my house. I'm scared._

I barely had a chance to reply to the text before Summer was making me try on different pairs of heels. Eventually we both managed to settle on a dress, and it's safe to say I felt like collapsing.

Now I'm at my house, Summer adding the finishing touches to my make-up. She steps back and grins at me, "There, finished," she says. "You look perfect, I have to admit."

I roll my eyes at her and spin round to inspect my appearance in the mirror. I chose a simple navy skater dress and nude heels. Nothing too flashy, but the process of rushing from the airport to my house to Macy's made me feel like I was preparing for the Oscar's.

"You don't look half bad yourself," I say, and I wink over my shoulder at her.

She smiles. "Well, beauty does come naturally to me. Anyway, I'll head to Taylor's now and you two can rock up fashionably late. But first, I want to witness Taylor's reaction when he sees you in that dress."

I laugh. I think Summer is more excited than me. I'm an equal mix of turbulent excitement and nerves. "Calm down, Summer, it's not like he's seeing the wedding dress for the first time."

"Oh I am so excited for that day. You understand I'll be the one crying the most at the wedding." It's not a question.

"That day is a while off yet but yes, I don't doubt you'll be sobbing," I say, and we both grin at each other.

I grab my clutch from the bed and Summer starts ushering me towards the stairs, flapping her hands like they're wings. I'm halfway down the stairs when Taylor appears at the bottom. His cheeks are puffed out, like a hamster storing food in its pouches.

I stop and give him a withering look. "Tay, we'll be eating at the party."

"I know," he says sheepishly, his voice muffled by all the food in his mouth, "but I was hungry." Whatever he says next gets lost amidst the food.

"What?"

He manages to swallow and repeats, "You look beautiful."

I feel the blood rush to my cheeks. It doesn't matter that he's my fiancée, it still feels like I'm in that perfect period when the relationship first begins. By the time I'm used to calling him 'my fiancée' he'll be my husband.

"Aww," Summer squeals behind me, and that only makes me grin harder.

I take the last few steps and wrap my arms around Taylor's neck. "Thank you," I say, and I give him a quick kiss. "And I have to say you're looking very handsome."

He feigns over-the-top modesty and says, "Aww, shucks, Callie."

"Come on you," I say, slipping my hand into his, "we have an engagement party to go to. Summer, you going ahead?"

She rushes past us, yanking the door open with a lot of strength for someone so slim. "Yep, see you there."

By the time we reach Taylor's my heart is fluttering nervously. I don't like being the centre of attention at the best of times, but now I've got a whole party dedicated to something involving me. But it's not just me, it's Taylor as well, the two of us together, and as if he knows what I'm thinking he reaches out his hand and laces his fingers with mine. I meet his eyes, that warm, comforting brown, and we share a smile.

Then he yells, "Let's get this party started!"

Still as kooky as ever.

Walking up to Taylor's front door, he slips his arm round my waist, pulling me close. Taylor knocks on the door, and seconds later Hayley opens it, grinning. She doesn't say anything, just merely steps back, an outstretched arm gesturing us inside. Suddenly, a cheer of 'congratulations!' roars to life, and I see the throng of people crammed into Taylor's living room, smiles on their faces and drinks in their hands.

I look at Taylor, and he looks at me, and we smile.

It takes us a while to make the rounds. I'm concentrating on making conversation and showing people my ring and keeping my grip on Taylor and admiring Hayley's decorating skills. I feel a bit like a celebrity. Taylor seems more relaxed than me, and maybe it's because he's used to being swamped by people. Zac has even made an appearance, and while the conversation between him and Taylor is a little strained at first, they soon look more comfortable around each other.

It's so noisy I barely hear my phone beep in my clutch. While Taylor is talking to Zac, I take the opportunity to check my messages. My stomach does a funny little squirm when I see who's texted me: Josh Farro.

_I heard there was a party. I'm outside._

Just like that. I feel my stomach squirm harder, tightening. We invited his brother but not him. Oh god, I hope Josh isn't going to kick off. I don't want him to ruin this.

"I'll be back in a second," I tell Taylor.

"Alright," he replies, planting a kiss on my forehead.

I weave through the party guests to the front door. My hand hovers over the door handle for a second, deliberating. I'd really like to just leave Josh outside, but then I feel awful for not inviting him. I need to settle this.

I open the door and quickly shut it behind me. Josh is stood on the porch, and at the sound of my entrance he turns around. His clothes are smart, and immediately I feel my stomach twinge again. I feel horrible.

"Josh," I say, not really knowing how to begin. I sound breathless.

He has his hands stuffed in his pockets. "So I heard you and Taylor got engaged."

"Yeah," I say, "when we were in London."

Josh clears his throat. "Well, congratulations, I guess."

"You guess?" It comes out before I can stop myself, and I immediately want to snatch the words from the air and crush them in my hand, pretend they were never said. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

Josh's frown deepens. "Is Zac here?"

I nod. I don't trust myself to speak.

He clears his throat again. The silence begins to eat away at me. I can hear the party inside, happy and warm and lively. Outside it's cold. "So why did you invite Zac and not me?"

Not this petty stuff again.

"Taylor and Zac have been talking," I reply. "If you had actually spoke to Hayley or Jeremy or Taylor before this party then maybe we would have asked you to come. It's only an engagement party, and it was really last minute. Please, Josh, please don't be pissed off." And I think to myself, why am I pleading with him? Why am I always the one pleading with Josh? This isn't even my argument, but somehow I've become entangled with it when trying to set things right.

I laugh awkwardly and continue, "I know it's a long way off but I'd actually like you to come to the wedding."

Josh laughs too, but it's loud and bitter, and immediately my attempt at a polite smile fizzles away. "Because I'd be so welcome there."

Why is he being like this? "Josh-" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"Just forget it, Callie. Everyone hates me and that's never gonna change. Have a nice party." His voice is sour, and the twisted smile on his face makes me feel ashamed and angry all at once. He's hurt, but I don't know how I feel about that.

He turns and storms down the porch steps, the wind grabbing at his jacket.

"Josh!" I call after him.

I can't leave him like this.

I hurry down the steps, not exactly that agile in heels. "Josh!" I call out again. He's on the other side of the street now, opening the door to his car. "Go back to the party, Callie," he says, not looking at me.

"Don't be like this, Josh, it's stupid," I answer, stepping out onto the road.

He laughs again, still humourless, and shakes his head. "Drop it; this isn't your war."

"War? You think this is a war?" I say, just a metre or so from him now.

I'm so wrapped up in this whole thing that I don't hear the car, not over the sound of my hammering heart and Josh and the wind screaming through the trees. I only know it's there when the glare from the headlights washes over me. I turn my head and look, shielding my eyes, and in that second I know exactly what it feels like to be a rabbit trapped in the headlights.

The car hits. The air is knocked from my lungs. I see the sky, dark. The trees. My own flailing arms. And then I'm coming down. Down, down, down. My back hits something hard. The road. My whole body feels like it's on fire. Everything is blurring.

"Callie!" Josh. Suddenly he's beside me. I can't make out his features. Everything looks so soft. Then he's calling another name, a name I know so well. "Taylor!" he says. "Taylor! Help her!"


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-seven – Wake Up

I awake to white. Bright like when the sun reflects off the snow. My eyeballs try to roll back into my head. That happens in my dreams sometimes. I'm trying to see what's going on, but I can't even stay conscious in my own mind.

Things begin to focus. Ceiling tiles. White. Bright, industrial lights. I feel stiff cloth beneath me and over me. Except for my right leg. My right leg feels nothing.

I force my eyes to open wider, to blink away the blur. I turn my head a little and something much darker than the ceiling and the lights comes into view, leaning over me. A person. Not a doctor, or a nurse; they're not wearing white or scrubs. Yet still the features won't focus. My head is pounding.

And then a voice I would know anywhere, a voice that calls me back to reality. Taylor. "Callie?" he says. His voice is warm, a little shaky, hopeful. I can hear the smile in it. "Hey, Cal."

The blur finally dissipates and Taylor becomes clear. There's a smattering of stubble on his chin, as he obviously hasn't bothered to shave for a day or two. Is that because of me? How long have I been out?

I move to sit up but for some reason my right leg doesn't move with me. Confused, I finally look towards the end of the bed, only to see my right leg in plaster, sticking out of the covers. I'm wearing a cast. I've broken my leg.

"What?" I mumble, just staring at it. What the hell have I done?

Taylor laughs, his face still split into a grin. I look at him and I can't help but laugh a little too. "Seriously, Tay, what have I done?"

His smile falters, and so does mine. His brow furrows and he asks softly, "You don't remember?"

I shake my head, but that turns out to be a bad idea as spots spring to life in my vision. Taylor interlaces his fingers with mine, his warm hand squeezing. "Take it easy, Cal," he murmurs.

I close my eyes for a minute, allow the spots to clear. I feel like someone has taken a sledgehammer to my head as well as my leg. My heart is starting to pump harder.

When I open my eyes again they meet Taylor's. His gaze is full of worry, his brown eyes, usually so happy and warm, now dampened a little with concern. "Callie..." he begins. He pauses and shuffles his chair a bit closer, holding my hand between both of his. "You got... you got hit by a car."

My eyes widen; I can't help it. "I what?"

Taylor meets my gaze again as if it pains him to speak. "I don't know exactly what happened; I wasn't there. I was in the house and I didn't know you were outside until everyone heard this kind of... thump. The whole house just went quiet and I heard someone shout your name and that was it, I was already rushing for the door. When I got outside you were... you were on the floor and Josh was crouched beside you and he was yelling at me and your leg was twisted all the wrong way..."

He bites his lip, seemingly staring at nothing. I lean forward, ignoring the aches and pains in my body, and plant a kiss on Taylor's forehead. As I pull back he looks up at me, and I smile at him. His frown smooths out a little, but not entirely.

"It's fine, Tay, I remember," I tell him. "I'm okay now, that's all that matters." And it's true, I do remember and I am okay; I'm not dead, after all. I remember following Josh to his car, and in the heat of the moment I forgot all about checking for oncoming traffic. A stupid mistake, but a mistake that could have cost me my life. But like I said, it doesn't matter now; I'm alive.

Then, suddenly, it's my turn to frown. "Taylor," I begin, "you said you didn't know exactly what happened. Didn't Josh tell you?"

Taylor's expression hardens. "I asked him at the time, he just said he didn't know. I didn't bother pushing him because making sure you were alright was my priority. When the ambulance came he left."

I feel my face contort. "What a knobhead!" I spit out before I can stop myself. As soon as I say it a part of me feels as thought it wants to take those words back. It's not like Josh left me as soon as it happened, but still he didn't bother explaining anything to Taylor, obviously too busy with saving his own skin as per usual, hence why he then ran off when the ambulance turned up.

I shake my head, trying to clear the anger, and this time the spots don't dance. Being pissed off with Josh won't help anything, as I've learnt before. I sigh. "Nevermind," I mutter, mostly to myself.

Taylor's grip tightens on my hand. "What was he even doing there?"

I laugh then, I really can't help it, but it's bitter and amused all at once. "He was there," I say, a smile playing with my lips, "because he was pissed off that he wasn't invited to the engagement party."

Taylor's eyes widen a bit, but I can't quite read his expression. "Really?"

"Yep," I say. Yet something is tugging at me. I feel like I'm being a bit unfair. "I don't think that was the only reason though," I add.

"Why?" Taylor asks. "Did he say something else?"

I try and think. I'm sure he did. I replay the memory, trying to go over what Josh said, but all the words get tangled up and I don't know if what I'm remembering is even true or the product of my imagination. And then it comes to me, a flash of words, sharp. _Everyone hates me and that's never gonna change... this isn't your war. _

I sigh, and it's heavier this time. "Josh is adamant that everyone hates him. He still sees this whole thing as some kind of war. I suppose before he felt like it was just you three against him and Zac, yet I don't think that's how he feels any more. I think he sees it as like the world against him or something ridiculous like that."

It may be ridiculous, yet I can't help but feel sorry for him.

"But that's stupid," Taylor says, shaking his head.

"I know, but that's how he feels. I think that's why he didn't stay when the ambulance came; he didn't want to get questioned and yelled at by you and everyone else at the party."

Taylor shakes his head again, more fiercely this time. It's not often that I see Taylor getting worked up, but when he does I don't like it; it doesn't feel like my Taylor. "That's selfish and cowardly," he says. "At that moment in time you were more important. You could have died, Callie, and yeah he called for me but he didn't do much else. Once I was there he backed off. I didn't see him again till I realised his car was driving away."

I sigh and shrug. I feel worn out, like I've been climbing mountains for days. "I don't know, Tay. I don't really want to think about it any more. We'll deal with Josh when he wants to talk."

"_If_ he wants to talk," Taylor adds.

I glare at him, warning him to give it a rest now. His features soften and he leans closer, pressing his lips to mine. "Sorry, Cal."

I roll my eyes at him and he manages a smile. "Don't be. Now, when am I getting discharged?"

Taylor's smile stretches into a grin. He reaches behind him and holds up a pair of crutches, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

I laugh. "You do realise you'll be carrying me everywhere, don't you?"

He puts the crutches down and bows, answering in his most deferential tone of voice, "Of course, m'lady."

My grin is so wide it feels as though it'll stretch off the edges of my face. "Good."


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-eight – Hello Hello

I sit on the kitchen island, one leg swinging, the other immobile in plaster. Taylor is finishing up making a cheese and tomato sandwich for me.

He eyes me with a smile while I look on smugly. "I thought it was your leg that you broke, not your arms."

"I'm an invalid; you have to help the needy."

He rolls his eyes at me, cutting the bread in two and dropping them on a plate. He holds it up for me, still smiling, one eyebrow raised. "Thanks, Jeeves," I say. "How long are you gonna be gone for?"

He shrugs, placing his hands on the counter either side of me. "I don't-" he begins, his brow furrowed in thought. But then he leans a little too close, his leg pressing against my cast, and I gasp in pain.

"Sorry, Cal, crap, I'm sorry," he blurts out, immediately straightening up. He looks at me with those doe brown eyes and worry lines criss-crossing his forehead, and it only takes me a few deep breaths to dispel the worst of the pain before I begin laughing.

"It's fine, Tay," I tell him. "You got payback for having to make me a sandwich."

The creases in his forehead smooth out as he smiles. "I guess I did," he says, leaning closer more carefully this time to plant a tentative kiss on my lips.

"Okay," he says, pulling away, "I'd better go."

He places his hands on my waist and gently helps me down from the counter, supporting me with one hand as he reaches for my crutches.

"I could just carry you to the couch, you know," he says, smiling down at me, but I take the crutches from him instead.

"Oh, so you moaned about making me a sandwich but you'd carry me to the sofa?"

He shrugs, and there's colour seeping into his cheeks. "Practice."

"For what?"

He doesn't reply, just keeps getting redder, his smile shy. Then I realise. "Like when the groom carries the bride over the threshold of the house?"

"You got it," he says, and he winks dramatically.

"Well, maybe next time, Romeo. For now you can carry my sandwich," I answer.

"Deal."

He walks at a snail's pace beside me as I make the gruelling trek from the kitchen to the living room. He watches my feet attentively as just one of them moves slowly forward, the other wrapped in plaster and hovering just above the ground.

"Don't laugh," I say.

"I'm not." But there's a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "I think it's cute."

"You think me being a cripple is cute?"

"Okay, endearing then," he says, putting the plate on the coffee table as I awkwardly lower myself onto the sofa.

Taylor grabs a cushion, placing it on the table as well, and I lift my broken leg to rest on it.

"TV?" he asks, that smile still tugging at his lips.

"If you'd be so kind."

He turns it on, tossing me the remote. "Okay, I am _actually_ going now. You gonna be alright?"

I fix him with a look, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously, Tay, just go."

He grins. "Okay, okay," he says, grabbing his jacket and car keys. "See you later." And, just before he closes the door, his head pops back round the threshold and he calls out, that big puppy-dog grin on his face, "I love you!"

I shake my head at him, a laugh bubbling to my lips. "I love you too, now go on, get lost!"

When he shuts the door my smile stays in place for a few seconds longer before quickly fading. Even with the TV on, Taylor's house is eerily quiet. And then I realise. _Our _house. _My _house. This is going to be our house soon, and the thought has my breath hitching in my chest, a smile stretching across my face. I look at the engagement ring on my finger. It almost doesn't seem real. Despite the whole broken leg and Josh fiasco, everything seems too good to be true. God, we're going to have to start planning the wedding soon. I seriously didn't envisage this for myself, not for a few more years at least. It's like the sandman has sprinkled sand in my eyes but kept me awake. It's a waking dream.

I finish my sandwich while the TV rambles through advert after advert telling me to call phone numbers with letters in them, which has always confused the hell out of me. I'm contemplating actually calling one of these phone-numbers-with-letters just to see how it works when the doorbell rings.

I sigh heavily. I was hoping this wouldn't happen.

"Alright, on my way," I grumble as I drag my leg off the pillow. I hold it to keep it from thudding on the floor before reaching for my crunches. Now this is always my least favourite bit; pulling myself onto my feet without toppling over.

The doorbell rings again, twice this time in quick succession. Grudgingly, I manage to stand up, leaning heavily on the crutches. I've only been out the hospital a few days and I still ache. With any luck, whoever's at the door will have given up and gone by the time I get there.

I close the gap between the sofa and the door, stooping as much as I dare to look through the peep hole. I feel like an old woman. But if it's someone selling something, then I'll just save myself a lot of standing up and go sit back down.

Only it isn't a salesperson. It's Josh Farro.

My heart starts hammering. _Thud, thud, thud _againstmy rib cage. I think I've had enough shock and surprises recently to last me a lifetime, but now they go as far as turning up on my doorstep.

Do I open the door? I look through the peep hole again. He stands there, warped by the lens, but his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets and jittery on his feet. He looks nervous. It's in the way he chews on his bottom lip, in the way his shoulders are hunched.

We need to talk though, I know we do. I've even contemplated texting or calling him, but every time I've unlocked my phone I've just gone and locked it again. I didn't want to make the first move. I didn't do anything wrong. Or did I? Maybe just a little? We didn't invite him to the engagement party. The thought had crossed my mind, but I'd thought it too soon. I had wanted him at the wedding though. _Do _want him there. But only if he sorts everything out.

I have to steady my hand before I open the door, trying to stay standing on my crutches at the same time. It swings open slowly, revealing Josh stood on the porch. Immediately, he looks from my eyes to my cast. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.

I don't feel angry yet, or upset. I just feel nervous, awkward, at how this is going to go. We don't exactly have a good track record of keeping conversation light and easy.

"Hi," I say when its apparent he can't get his words out.

He snaps his mouth shut, moves his gaze from my leg but not back to my eyes. "Hi," he says, his voice tight.

I sigh, irritation swelling. An apology would be a good start.

"Taylor's gone out," I say, as if that might make him open up.

He lets out a long breath, pausing before he finally strings a sentence together. "I've never seen Taylor angry that often, but when he gets mad he gets _mad._"

I shrug. "Well, you just missed him, so say what you have to say."

He meets my gaze then, frowning. "I'm sorry, Callie."

"Thanks," I say. I was hoping those words would send relief flooding through my veins, but I barely feel anything, and I don't like it. I want to make things better. I can't stand tension. I want the months ahead of me to be happy.

"I really am sorry, Callie," he continues. "I mean it. What happened was all my fault. If I hadn't turned up then..." he trails off, gesturing to my leg.

"Well, what's done is done, Josh. Thanks for apologising. I don't know, it might take me a while to properly forgive you, but it might take Taylor longer-"

I stop, hearing the sound of an approaching engine. Taylor's car swings into view, crawling up the drive. It comes to a stop beside Josh's car, and I feel my test tighten. No arguing, please.

Taylor gets out of the car a little slowly. Even from here I can see how his eyebrows are knitted into a frown. "I forgot my phone," he calls as he approaches, and his voice sounds strained, like he's holding something back. His emotions, that's what.

"Taylor," Josh says like he's trying to start a conversation, but he doesn't continue.

Taylor comes to a stop beside him. "Josh," he says, in greeting, but his words sound final.

"I think I'll leave you to it," Josh says, beginning to edge away.

Taylor dips his head as he lets out a huff of laughter. I've never really seen him like this before. "Okay," he says, and steps past me into the house.

Josh turns to leave, but not before he catches my eye.

"Bye Josh," I say.

"Bye."

I watch him head back to his car, his hands still stuffed into his jacket pockets, before I turn to Taylor. He's coming back from the kitchen, phone in hand.

"What did he want?" Taylor asks. His words still sound tight.

"He came to apologise," I tell him.

"And did he? Or did he back out again."

The words catch me off-guard. There was venom in them, a venom I haven't come across before. "He apologised," I say.

"Okay, good," Taylor says. His face softens then as he comes closer, but I can still see it in his eyes, that hardness. "You okay getting back to the couch?"

"I'll be fine, Tay, don't worry about me."

He steps forward and lands a kiss on my forehead. "See you later then, Cal."

"Bye Tay."

When he shuts the door, the house seems even quieter than before.


End file.
